


She Just Wanted to be Heard

by Sailorhathor



Category: Little House on the Prairie (TV), Miracles (TV), Ringu (1998), Ringu | The Ring - All Media Types, Supernatural, The Ring (2002)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-12
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 160,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/pseuds/Sailorhathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Kirland led a charmed life until the night he watched a weird videotape, and was given seven days to live. The story of how multiple supernatural deaths in Boston lead a group of friends and occult hunters on a quest to end the 7-day curse forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Human Nature

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 1: Human Nature  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 1 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 4,568  
 **Summary:** Samara receives a little help in escaping the well. Three unknowing victims watch her tape, and begin the cycle all over again. What will their next seven days be like?  
 **Warning:** Has a little bad language, including the F word. Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to KaijaWest, Meredevachon, and Hada de Sorna for their betas of this chapter.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #1 Ravished and Coclaim100 Prompt #1 Beginnings.  
 **Notes:** Notes are included at the end of the story.

  
 _March 2004_

        In a dimension washed out by overexposed whiteness, like a world made of negatives, a stone well stood in the middle of a clearing. The trees surrounded it, but not too close, as if they were afraid to get too near. The well currently had a cement cap on it. A round barrier to her special brand of death.

        It had been a while since anyone had died at the hands of that evil, chilling little girl. Some people went on with their lives. They thought it was all over. That there was, finally, peace.

        But eons away, a daemon was starving. He took steps to see her freed. To see them all free.

        A girl, in her teens, with long black hair, shambled barefoot through the field to the side of the well. Her hair obscured most of her face. Although it took a lot of effort, she managed to push the cement cap off the well about a foot and a half, so there was an opening, a crescent-shaped black hole, through which she could enter the well.

        Or, maybe, through which something else could get out.

        After several long seconds, the silence was broken by the sound of something scaling the side of the well. Crawling. Nails scraping over rough stone. Soon, Samara's hand appeared over the edge and groped for a hold. It was small, marked with decay. The teenage girl grasped the hand and pulled her up. Samara's head popped out of the crescent opening.

        She looked at the other girl through strands of wet, black hair. Recognition came into Samara's eyes. "Charlotte? Is that really you?"

        Charlotte's face could not be glimpsed behind her hair, but it was obvious she was looking down at Samara because her eyes were aimed toward the little girl. She moved slowly. "Hi Samara." Charlotte paused. "Didn't I say I would always look after you?"

        Lifetimes away, on a small rock called Earth, in the town of Astoria, Oregon, Rachel Keller shuddered violently in her bed, as if someone had just walked over her grave.

*****

        It all began again on the other side of the country, near Boston, Massachusetts.

        Quinn Kirkland led what could be called a charmed life. He had just currently rolled off his girlfriend and lay beside her in bed while they both tried to catch their breath, looking satisfied and thoroughly ravished. Both were sweaty and naked under the covers. Quinn looked at her, chuckled, and reached for the cigarettes on the bedside table.

        "That is such a cliché, smoking after sex," she said. She was Svetlana Van Curen, and technically, there had been no declaration of eternal love or request to go "steady." She fell under the label of girlfriend simply because she was the girl Quinn had spent the most time with since the fall semester. He was just twenty, after all, twenty and healthy, not to mention good-looking, with a head of blond curls. But Svetlana was the only romantic entanglement with a key to his apartment, and that had to count for something.

        "It's the perfect time to enjoy one," Quinn replied with another chuckle. He invited her to cuddle in close, her head on his shoulder, while he lit up the cigarette and began to smoke. Svetlana accepted the invitation with a grin.

        The cigarette held between two fingers, Quinn retrieved the remote from the bedside table and switched on the television at the end of his bed. The small Sylvania brand TV sat atop a brown chest of drawers. The light from the television cut through the darkness around them.

        "Just like a man. Sex, then TV."

        Quinn scoffed and shook his head, surfing the channels for the sports news. "I believe the cliché is that guys are supposed to drop right off to sleep after sex."

        "You will do that next." Her Dutch accent colored every sentence she spoke, as did a little broken English here and there.

        Someone knocked at his door. "Hey Quinny, you up?"

        "Not anymore," Svetlana quipped just for the two of them.

        Quinn snickered, and called, "Yeah, I'm awake."

        The person who had knocked started to open the door, but Svetlana squealed, "Hold on, I'm not decent!"

        "You _never_ are."

        She gave Quinn a less than amused look while she crawled to the end of the bed to get her discarded shirt. Quinn admired the view he currently had of her nude backside. Once she had the shirt pulled on over her head, Svetlana got back under the covers and rested her head on her hand, her elbow bent into the pillow. "Okay, you come in."

        The mother of Quinn's roommate entered his room. Jolene Searling, one of those "fun" mothers who hadn't stopped being hot despite being in her upper thirties, who had always been more of a friend to her daughter than her mother. Jolene also had a key to the apartment. She smirked at the scene before her in Quinn's big bed with the masculine cherry wood headboard and footboard. So, he was with that Dutch exchange student again; what was her name, Slutlana Van Tart? Jolene had marveled at the idea that they still had exchange students in college when Jodie told her whom Quinn was sleeping with now over Starbucks coffee at the beginning of the fall semester. A blonde Dutch girl, a tulip catalog model back home, even. The boy had some of the oddest girlfriends, but always the most beautiful.

        "Hi, you two, how's it hanging?" Jolene switched on the light.

        Quinn shielded his eyes. "Hey, Ms. Searling."

        "Hi, Ms. Searling," Svetlana echoed. She knew Jodie's mother was kind of trampy, but hoo boy, some of the things she wore around her daughter's friends! A halter-top and a leather jacket over low cut jeans! Some people, no matter how good they still looked, needed to dress their age, she thought. But wasn't Jolene Searling some kind of biker mama? This was the standard uniform, then.

        Always perky around Jodie's friends, Jolene leaned on the doorjamb and scolded, "Now what have I told you? Call me Jolene. Stop with that Ms. Searling crap."

        "Yes, ma'am," replied Quinn, taking another drag off his cigarette. He had a smirk in his eyes; he knew calling her "ma'am" was just as bad as calling her Ms. Searling.

        She glared at him playfully. "I oughta snatch you baldheaded."

        Snickering impishly, Quinn said, "I'm sorry, but Jodie's not here. She's on a study date."

        "Oh, that's okay, I just came by to check up on things and shoot the shit. I'll catch her tomorrow. I have some bad news for you, though."

        "What?"

        Jolene put on a sad expression. "Your mailbox is dead."

        Quinn, looking perplexed, made a, "Huh?" sound.

        Jolene explained. "I went by your mailbox just to be courteous, you know. Here's your mail, by the way." She held up a pile of letters, magazines, ad circulars, and a small package. "And someone had pried the mailbox open. I don't know what they got, but there was still quite a bit of mail in there. Do you guys _ever_ check it?"

        Quinn seemed angry; he made a disapproving cluck sound with his tongue. "Man! I've been really careful to avoid that identity theft bullshit. I can't believe someone would want to be me that badly. My credit's been kinda shitty since the motorcycle wreck and all the medical bills."

        "They probably don't know that." Jolene, grinning, held up the package. "I don't think it has anything to do with identity theft, though. I think they broke in to give you this."

        Eyeing the fat, padded envelope in her hands, he asked, "What makes you think that?"

        Jolene showed him the front of the tan-colored package. "Because there's no address on it. No postage, nothing. Just your name."

        Indeed, his name had been written across the front of the envelope with a black Sharpie. "QUINN." The anonymous delivery person had underlined it with a curving line, like an elongated infinity sign. It definitely had not been mailed to him. "What the fuck? Why couldn't they just leave it by my doorstep?"

        Jolene shrugged. "If you ever find out who did it, you can ask them." She tossed the package onto his chest. "Open it."

        Quinn was almost afraid to. Probably from some old girlfriend who couldn't stand to let go. He'd had a couple of those over the years - psycho ex's. His least favorite kind. "What if it's, like, a mail bomb?"

        Both women had a good laugh at his expense. "Are you retarded?" Svetlana chortled.

        "It could have anthrax in it or something."

        "Oh please. Quit being such a drama queen and just open it already. I'm dying of curiosity!" Jolene rubbed her hands together and bounced on the balls of her booted feet.

        Since there was no way to know what it was until he opened it, Quinn apprehensively tore the edge off the envelope and slid its contents out. It was a single black videotape. No label, no markings, no identification whatsoever. The person who had placed it in Quinn's mailbox had taped a piece of notebook paper around it, so he carefully ripped the edge with the tape, opened the note up, and read it. "PLAY ME," Quinn said. He looked at Jolene, then at Svetlana. "It's a videotape."

        "Thank you, Captain Obvious," quipped Jolene.

        Quinn turned the tape over in his hands. "That's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

        Jolene got in another sarcastic comment. "Besides being born?" she asked, and chuckled at her own joke.

        Svetlana snickered too.

        "I wonder what's on it," Quinn mused to himself. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure he got this tape. But they'd also broken into his mailbox to do it, something that seemed like a symbol of anger. He figured he would either really like the message they'd made for him, or really hate it.

        Jolene mirrored his thoughts. "I think some chick either made you a porno or a 'fuck off and die' tape. Any suspects?"

        "I won't know 'til I see what's on it." Quinn wasn't sure he wanted either woman to see the contents; what if they were embarrassing? But he felt he didn't have any choice at this point. They both would hound him until they saw what was on the tape. It was human nature. Besides, his ego was getting the better of him. Some girl had carried out an elaborate scene to make sure he got this tape, which had to have something very tantalizing on it, to be delivered in such a way, and Quinn secretly wanted other people to see it. To show the tape off.

        Quinn's assumptions about their curiosity were right. "Well?" Jolene held her hand out.

        With a long-suffering sigh, Quinn slapped the tape into her outstretched hand. "Fine. But if I tell you, you have to stop the tape immediately, okay? It could be something really embarrassing."

        "It's probably just the porno." Jolene chortled her way to the TV and popped the videotape into the VCR below it. "Where's your remote?"

        "Uh..." Quinn looked around for the VCR remote.

        "Why do you need it? You there next to the damn thing. Push the button," Svetlana said with a roll of her eyes.

        "Uh, yeah, no duh, but your lazy lump of a boy toy hasn't set anything on it. The blue screen is asking us if we want English, Spanish, or Portuguese language." Jolene knelt by the bed and searched through the pile of TV magazines and other junk there that Quinn was trying to pick through.

        "I do too set it; we just lost power during a storm last week."

        "See what I mean? It takes you a week to reset it." During her search, Jolene not only found two remotes, but a small digital camera. She grinned mischievously to herself. "Is it this one?"

        Quinn nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

        Jolene picked up the remote _and_ the camera. She sprang up, put the camera to her eye, and cried, "Smile!" before snapping off a surprise picture of Quinn and Svetlana in bed.

        "Hey!" squealed Svetlana. She worked to smooth down her hair. "I wasn't ready!"

        Jolene looked at the preview picture on the little digital screen and smirked. "Wow, you can really tell."

        Snatching it out of her hand, Quinn put the camera on the bed at his side. "Would you just play the tape already?"

        "Yeah, sure. And fuck you, rugrat."

        "As long as you agree to blow me, Ms. Searling."

        Svetlana gaped; she couldn't believe he spoke to anyone's _mother_ that way. But Jolene had taken a surprise picture of them where Svet probably didn't look very good, so she was more than okay with Quinn being lewd to her.

        That smirk stayed on Jolene's face as she chose a language for the VCR and took care of a couple other necessary settings to get the blue screen off the TV. Then she finally pressed 'Play.'

        After about five seconds, static came on the screen. The screen alternated between quick shots of blackness and the static.

        Jolene lamented, "Aww, don't be broken." She was more than a little curious what some girl could have thought was so important as to deliver the message so dramatically.

        Suddenly, the image of a lit circle came on the screen. It was quite hard to tell exactly what it was, but it seemed to be moving, like sunlight passing through a crack. In the background were strange sound effects.

        They all watched, wondering what this was about. "Doesn't look like porno," commented Svetlana.

        There was more static before an image of churning water, obviously tinged with blood, came on the TV. Quinn made a face and rolled his eyes. A thought passed through his mind that this was some sort of artsy-fartsy threat against him from that psycho ex he'd just been considering. But the image quickly changed to that of a single little chair, straight on, just sitting there in a lonely room by itself.

        "Umm..." was Quinn's comment. "I don't get it."

        The tape went further into things that meant nothing to Quinn, nor anyone else in the room. A hairbrush passed through dark hair.

        "Ooh, that was neat shot," Svetlana said.

        The woman brushing her hair could now be seen in an oval mirror with a braided silver frame. Nothing else of the woman could be seen, only her reflection in the glass. Suddenly, she looked up a little, as if someone else had come into the room. The mirror shook, and seemed to migrate to the other side of the wall. It now reflected what appeared to be a girl with dark hair that had been brushed over her face. This girl walked away from the mirror, back into the darkness. The mirror switched back to its original position, showing the woman looking to her left at where the mirror had reflected the child. A little girl's voice sang a song very faintly in the background, words they could not make out, though Quinn thought he heard something like, " _...the world is spinning, when it stops..._ "

        "That was... kinda interesting..." Quinn mumbled. What was any of this shit supposed to mean to him?

        Many of the scenes on the tape were quite artistically shot, including one that came up of the side of a white house with striped shutters, a man standing in the window. Shots like that started a train of thought Quinn figured he would share once the tape was over.

        They were all perplexed by an image of an unfamiliar cliff overlooking the ocean, with a slim tree that bowed in the wind, and disgusted by a shot of a weird humanlike creature with what looked like its intestines being pulled from its mouth.

        "Ew," Quinn said, not for the last time. He wondered why, when the shot of the cliff had been shown, there had been a fly crawling around in the corner, like it had been on the lens. But, the fly could be seen from the top, not the underside, like the viewer should have seen it. Whoever had made this tape had gone to the trouble of special effects. What the hell...

        Several cryptic images went by. Something struggled around inside black material, possibly a garbage bag. A round object of light was being slowly eclipsed; it was obviously related to the first image of the lit circle.

        "Is that the sun?" Svetlana asked, suggesting more than questioning.

        "I don't know; what's all that stuff along the sides?" Quinn wondered, referring to light around the circumference of the circle reflecting off unidentifiable matter.

        They saw a burning tree on the tape for the first time, an image that would recur. Someone pushing their fingertip down on a nail, impaling the digit and ripping up their fingernail, followed.

        "Ew!" cried Quinn.

        Svetlana whimpered and hid her face in his shoulder for a moment. "That was gross."

        "Gnarly," Jolene added.

        If they disliked that image, they enjoyed the next one even less. The entire screen was filled with writhing maggots. Svetlana gasped and cried, "Grooooss!" Quinn made a face and Jolene laughed at them both. The maggots suddenly changed into a pile of writhing people, hundreds of them, climbing all over each other, each trying to get to some unknown destination.

        "I think that was supposed to be symbolic," Quinn guessed.

        A chair next to a table strangely moved on its own, though no one sat in it - then an extremely large centipede crawled out from under the table, revealing that it had nudged the chair. A glass of water sat on the table.

        "Pffft, now you're just filming random things," commented Jolene.

        "But did you see the bug?! It was huge!" Svetlana cried.

        Quinn couldn't help but laugh. "Svet, it was probably a miniature table and chair, filmed with a regular size centipede."

        She was embarrassed by her own gullibility. "Oh."

        A lamb with only three legs limped about in a barn doorway. More random images followed: A horse's eye, the circle being eclipsed, and then another sickening image, that of seven severed fingers in a wooden box, still wiggling.

        For the first time since the tape had come on, Svetlana looked scared in reaction to that image.

        Quinn stuck out his tongue. "Bleeeeeh…"

        "If this came from one of your girlfriends, kid, you are one sick puppy to have dated her," joked Jolene.

        There followed a much longer shot of the burning tree, eventually interrupted by the struggling being in the black bag, all overshadowed by a high-pitched whine that soon sounded like somebody screaming. Everything fell silent as the mother figure came on the screen again, fixing her hair in the mirror that had been seen previously. She removed a pin from her hair and turned to look at the camera, as if she could see the viewer right through their TV screen.

        Quinn shuddered hard. "Fuckin' creepy!" Svetlana seemed to agree; her expression was fearful.

        Jolene laughed at them again. "Kids."

        Random images. The side of the house, no one in the window this time. The little chair, upside down and spinning. A very tall ladder leaning against a wall. Two dead horses lying in the surf on a rocky beach, water lapping at their carcasses.

        Jolene shook her head. "Lovely. They better have a message at the end of this about no animals being harmed during the making of this motion picture."

        Quinn couldn't help it; he cracked up laughing at that, and the comment lightened the mood. He wiggled his eyebrows at Svetlana, who was obviously still a bit upset at the tape's more unpleasant images.

        The woman who had been seen fixing her hair in the mirror was now standing on the cliff overlooking the ocean from earlier in the tape. She stretched out her arms and fell gracefully over the side.

        Grinning impishly, Quinn looked at Jolene and said, "She forgot her water wings."

        Jolene burst out with a hearty laugh. "There ya go."

        "I don't think it's funny," mumbled Svetlana. She had reached the point of totally creeped out and was not going back.

        The tall ladder that had been seen before began to fall down. The image was interrupted by a shot of the circle finally being fully eclipsed. Then the ladder hit the ground with an echoing thud.

        The last shot on the tape was almost silent. Just the image of a well in a quiet forest clearing.

        Then, static.

        The three viewers were quiet themselves for a few seconds. Then Quinn broke the silence with, "Well, that was weird."

        The phone in the apartment began to ring. Svetlana cried out in surprise.

        At the same time, Jolene's cell phone also started to play her ringtone to let her know she had a call.

        They looked at each other like this was the most bizarre thing they had ever encountered, both laughing nervously. "What are the odds..."

        "Yeah." Quinn reached over and grabbed the phone off its cradle. "Do you know what time it is?!" he jokingly snapped at the late caller.

        A young female voice whispered two words to him. "Seven days."

        Quinn paused out of confusion. "Huh? For what?"

        The line went dead.

        He looked at Jolene, whose phone was still ringing. Quinn's eyes challenged her to answer it. "Whoever's on the line will say 'seven days.' Just answer it and see."

        Furrowing her brow at him, Jolene answered the call. "Hello?" Her face registered confusion and, for a brief second, fear, before she hung up. "You were right."

        "They said 'seven days'?"

        She simply nodded. "This is fucking weird."

        "How come Svet didn't...?" Quinn looked at Svetlana.

        She shuddered against him. "I have my ringer off."

        Svetlana's cell phone sat on the bedside table. It now played "shave and a haircut, two bits," the little song she had set to let her know she had received a voicemail. The girl swallowed hard.

        Jolene picked up the phone. She daringly held it out to Svetlana. "Check it," she said.

        Svetlana did not take the phone. Her eyes were big and childlike with fear. Quinn took it instead. "How do I...?"

        She showed him how to check the voicemail on her phone. Quinn held it out so they could all hear.

        "Seven days..." the voice whispered.

        They were all silent for a few long moments. Then Quinn and Jolene burst into nervous giggles. "What the hell is this?!" he asked the ceiling.

        "I have no fucking clue!"

        Svetlana was just plain scared. "Quinn, what's going on? How did little girl on the phone know we watched that tape? What will happen in seven days?"

        Seeing the fear in her eyes, he pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "Oh Svet, don't worry. There's a logical explanation for all this. There has to be."

        "Then what is it?"

        Jolene knew he had no answer for that. None of them did. To save him, she interrupted, "So what do you think we have seven days to do?"

        Wanting to lighten the mood, Quinn suggested a few things. "To bake a cake? To study for a test? To stop masturbating?"

        "If it's the last one, you're gonna lose, kid."

        Even Svetlana couldn't resist giggling at that.

        "You think that woman on the tape really jumped off the cliff and splattered on the rocks below?" Jolene put on an evil expression, knowing she was probably scaring Svetlana, but that was the point. "Like some twisted piñata full of guts instead of candy?" She made a mock face of death, sticking out her tongue.

        "Mm, Jolly Ranchers and entrails!" Quinn snatched up his digital camera and quickly snapped off a picture of Jolene without warning her. "Ha! Got you back! You looked so fuckin' funny," he laughed.

        If she'd had something in her hands, she would have thrown it at him. Lucky for him, she'd put down the rest of the mail several minutes ago. "Quinny, you jerk! You are _not_ saving that."

        Still grinning, he looked at the preview window at the photo he had just taken. Jolene's face was warped, obscured by some sort of strange photographic effect, as if the picture had been taken of her underwater. Her face rippled across the screen. Svetlana looked at it and gasped.

        This just got stranger and stranger. Quinn tried to play it off. "Hey, Ugly, you broke my camera." He showed her the photo.

        Jolene looked at it for a long time. "Let me take a picture of you two."

        They did. Their faces were also warped.

        "The camera was working fine before. Look, here's the photo you took of us first." Quinn scanned back through the pictures to show her the one she had taken before they watched the videotape. It was not distorted. "What the fuck?"

        Jolene gave it some thought, and finally shook her head. "This is familiar. I've heard this somewhere before." She put down the camera. "It'll come to me."

        "Anytime soon?" Quinn asked with a smirk.

        Jolene picked his boxer shorts up off the floor and tossed them in his face. "I need a beer to loosen my brain. You guys coming? I'll make you some popcorn."

        Dragging the underwear off his head, Quinn replied, "When you put it that way..."

  
it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie.  
The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**

*****

 _ **Author's Notes:** Several of the scenes that will occupy Quinn, Svetlana, and Jolene's seven days were originally written out in a played-by-email role-playing game from 2003-2005. Those scenes were written using completely different characters. Some of the characters in this new fic are based on those characters of mine. Those of you who know SOPI (the rpg) will recognize aspects of them in several characters, especially Quinn, Svet, Danica, Jodie, Misty, Professor McNeal, and Charlotte. Although some have been just about unchanged from who they were in SOPI, you'll see a big makeover in many of the others. Anyway, since I will be using a few of the ideas we wrote out in that storyline, I must acknowledge my role-play partner K-kitty here, who has granted her permission for what she brought to the story to be used. Each contribution she made will be detailed as I get to them in the story. I must also acknowledge my friend Kaye, who originally played the girlfriend part in this first scene. Her character was also replaced by a new character and completely rewritten by me._

 _For the sake of atmosphere, instead of using the term "Chapter," I've used the word "Day" to express each portion of the story. My plans are for this to go from "Day 1" to "Day 100," since there needs to be 100 chapters to fulfill all of my fanfic challenge prompts. The number of Days simply corresponds to how many chapters there are, not how many days have gone by in the story._   



	2. Day 2: Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn, Svetlana, and Jolene discuss the possibilites for the origin of the cursed tape.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 2: Theories  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 2 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,234  
 **Summary:** Quinn, Svetlana, and Jolene discuss the possibilites for the origin of the cursed tape.  
 **Warning:** Has a little bad language, including the F word. Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to KaijaWest and Meredevachon for their betas of this chapter.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #2 Dark Path and Coclaim100 Prompt #2 Kiss.  
 **Notes:** Jolene's speculations about what the tape does to you are just made up, besides what obviously happened to the victims in the movies. I wanted to create the atmosphere that the videotapes have been out there for a while and there are many different stories circulating about them.

  
        Because Svetlana was wearing his robe, Quinn sat at the kitchen table in his boxers and a dirty T-shirt. He could have put on more clothes, but he was in his own home and didn't see the point. Anyone would want to be comfortable, he figured. Jolene was practically like having another guy around; he was going to drool over someone nearly twenty years older, and his friend's mother? No way. He sat there casually, sipping off a beer. "What do you think's going on here?"

        Jolene leaned on the counter by the microwave with one elbow, waiting for the popcorn to finish. "I saw something on the internet like this. Not the tape, but kids discussing it." She took a gulp of her own beer. "The tape they were discussing sounded a little different. Much shorter. There was some guy in it with a towel over his head, pointing, and some foreign writing. They said it was, like, Asian or something."

        "Maybe Japanese?" Quinn asked brightly. He and his twin sister Danica had taken their graduation trip to Japan - one of the best experiences of his life.

        "Probably. Anyway -"

        The microwave beeped to indicate it was done. Svetlana, who had been sitting quietly with a large round bowl in her lap, made an "eep" sound and jerked in her chair. "Damn it..." she mumbled.

        "Boy, did that tape make you jumpy," commented Quinn, briefly rubbing the back of her hand before taking the bowl and handing it to Jolene.

        Jolene just smirked. "Some are more easily creeped out than others." She continued speaking as she opened the steaming bag of popcorn and poured it into the bowl. "Anyway, once you finish watching the tape, your phone rings, just like the calls we got. Then any picture taken of you becomes warped. Like something's marked you." Jolene pointed sharply at Quinn. "You saw it!" She grinned mischievously when she saw Svetlana jump again in reaction.

        With a doubtful expression, Quinn took the bowl, placing it on the table, and said, "How do you get marked? What you're talking about is impossible."

        "Then explain it, smart guy."

        Quinn shrugged. Listening with trepidation, Svetlana absently began to eat popcorn out of the bowl. "I dunno. But what you're talking about sounds like some sort of supernatural mumbo-jumbo. My sister's all into that stuff, not me."

        Jolene crossed her arms. "Do you think the supernatural cares whether you believe in it or not?"

        Quinn just scoffed.

        Everyone started eating out of the bowl as the conversation continued. Taking another pull off the beer bottle, Jolene explained, "It's, like... an urban legend. The videotape is cursed. The legend says that if the tape is passed your way, something will happen to you at the end of seven days. As to what that is, no one is sure. Some say you'll go insane, other times I've heard it as you'll be absorbed by the tape and then people will see _you_ each time they watch it, but most people say that if you watch the tape, seven days later... you die." The intensity of the look in Jolene's eyes scared Svetlana to the point that she had to look away.

        Quinn put on a mock expression of fear and grabbed Svetlana, hugging her to him. At first, it startled her worse than anything, but she soon began to laugh as she realized what he was doing. "Oh my GAWD we're gonna die, Svet, the tape's gonna KILL us! Oh ME oh MY!"

        Jolene couldn't help but laugh, though she tried to keep up the menacing facade. "You laugh now. You just wait seven days..."

        "Okay, smartie, you know so much - how do you die?"

        "That's just it, no one knows for sure. Some accounts say you die in a horrible accident; others say you die recreating a scene from the tape. I've even heard that your heart just bursts from fear, and you're found with your face frozen in a final, terrified scream." She imitated the scene she had just described. Svetlana shuddered.

        "Oh, suuuure." Rolling his eyes, Quinn asked, "If that's true, then why are you being so casual about it? You're going to die too."

        Jolene scowled in reaction. "Quinn, it's just a story. No one actually dies."

        Svetlana, speaking a full sentence for the first time since they'd entered the kitchen, said, "But you're talking about it as if you believe it."

        "Just because I believe some of this shit could be possible doesn't mean I believe _everything._ No one dies like that."

        Quinn sighed. "So, what do you think, Svet? Are we 'cursed'?" he said with a grin.

        "No more than usual," Svetlana mumbled.

        Quinn continued, "No, really, I think I have this figured out. We live in the age of advanced technology, right? You put a computer chip in the tape, it sends a relay to a satellite every time someone watches it, and that goes to a computer manned by the person who made it. That way, they know that we're watching the tape. Then, maybe... maybe the chip can scan the room for cell phones and stuff, and pick up the numbers. Once the tape is done playing, the person makes the spooky calls, and viola! You have your curse."

        Jolene nearly choked on her beer from the laughter that instantly bubbled out of her. "Are you kidding? You really believe that?"

        Though she didn't want to agree with the woman, even Svetlana had to be skeptical of Quinn's theory. "I don't know... that sound awfully expensive, Quinn. Why would someone go to all that trouble?"

        "Either they are the _source_ of the legend, or they're running an experiment. People with lots of money are often eccentric. Or... it could be a school project. Like a local college. Colleges fund stupid crap all the time." On a roll, Quinn advanced the theory that had come to him while he was watching the tape. "And who do we all know and love who is in college, studying _Film_?"

        Both women figured out whom he meant right off. "Oh, come on... you think _Jodie_ did this?" Jolene asked incredulously.

        Quinn just smirked at what he thought was an act on Jolene's part. "You should have been an actress, Jolene. Really. I mean, you're the one who brought the tape in here to begin with. You know your daughter's behind this little trick because you're helping her. If this is a school project, then she could get the school to pay for it. You tell the college the project has 'artistic merit' and they pay for whatever you need. Jodie's obsessive about her projects. One of those people who loves film for its own sake and actually watches all those Cannes type films that put me to sleep. Yeah, I know exactly who did this to us." He gave Svetlana a nod. "Uhhh _huh_."

        Jolene, crossing her arms again, shook her head with an amused smile. "Are you finished?"

        "Did you have something else to say that would just be another attempt to redirect my suspicions off your sneaky daughter?"

        "Yeah." Jolene leaned on the table. "I am not in on this tape thing. Jodie didn't make the video."

        "Oh, sure."

        Jolene put up a hand, like she was making an oath on the Bible. "I swear to God."

        Just laughing at her, Quinn snickered, "I bet if we met Jodie's Film teacher, she'd have dark hair she often brushes in an oval mirror, and oh gee, why does she look like the woman on the videotape?"

        "If Jodie did this, I have no knowledge of it. She probably thought you'd eventually check the mail and find the tape yourself." Jolene sat down at the table. "And Jodie's Film professor is a man, just so you know. Like either of them is going to go to so much trouble just to make your girlfriend wet her pants."

        With an angry pout, Svetlana growled, "I did not."

        Quinn didn't seem to be listening. "Broke our mailbox and everything, just so I wouldn't think she did it. Your daughter's crazy."

        Shaking her head again, Jolene leaned far back in the chair and asked, "Will you do me a favor?"

        "What?"

        "Let me borrow the video to take to a party tonight. I want to see the look on everyone's faces when all their phones ring at once." Jolene chuckled at the thought.

        As he stood, Quinn shrugged. "Sure, what do I care if you inflict Jodie's artistic vision on a bunch of drunk, unsuspecting bikers?" He paused, and then began to chuckle too. "It would be quite a sight to see guys like that get all freaked out by something, wouldn't it?"

        They shared a good snicker before Quinn retrieved the videotape from his bedroom. He walked back into the kitchen with it held out in front of him with both hands. "Woooooh, Joleeeeene, it's coming to get yoooooou..." he said in a ghostly voice.

        She pretended to be scared. "Oh no, help, help!" Quinn comically chased her all through the kitchen, waving the tape in her face. Jolene eventually got her hands on the video and pried it out of his hands, then gave his hair a good ruffle for his trouble, messing it up.

        "Stop, woman!" Quinn snapped, but good-naturedly, smoothing down his hair.

        Although she rolled her eyes at what she saw as Jolene flirting with Quinn, Svetlana was still glad that the woman was going to take the tape away. She wasn't sure she could sleep with it being in the same room.

        "Alright you two, I'm outie. Thanks for the beer."

        "Let me know how the party goes," Quinn called after her as she sauntered to the front door. "I want to hear about all their reactions."

        Jolene waved dismissively without looking back.

        Quinn and Svetlana ate popcorn without saying much for a few minutes. He had begun to busy himself with some of the dishes in the sink when she asked, "You really don't believe in curse?"

        "Nope."

        "So, you don't believe we're on some sort of countdown to... whatever?" Not able to help it, Svetlana visibly shuddered.

        Quinn put down the dish he had been washing and dried his hands. "No, I don't." He took one of her hands to coax her to stand up, where he put his arms around her waist. She put on a pretty little pout; he'd once said she looked cute when she sulked. "I know you and Jodie don't exactly hang out, but you know how she is about the film and horror movie stuff. This kind of joke is right up her alley. If we walk around here all frightened and freaked out, she'll just love it; that's exactly what she wants. Little trickster." Quinn stroked her blonde hair.

        Svetlana nodded. "Jodie's very cruel."

        "No, no, she's not. Some people are just like that. They like to play jokes on people. She doesn't mean any harm."

        With a shrug, Svetlana confessed, "Well, I'm glad that the tape isn't here anymore. It was spooky. The phone calls were spooky. The stuff that happen in the pictures..."

        "I know," he sighed, nudging her chin with his finger. "But there's a logical explanation for all this." Quinn's mouth was so close to hers, she could feel his breath on her lips. "Quinny will protect you from the big bad monster."

        They were engaging in some pretty involved kissing when Jodie quietly entered the kitchen. The look on her face showed jealousy for only a moment before she hid her feelings. "You guys will do it anywhere, won't you?"

        Quinn and Svetlana stopped kissing long enough to look at her in surprise. "Well, well... speak of the devil," said Quinn with an impish grin.

  
it won't stop  



	3. Day 3: Synchronicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodie's quite the little trickster, isn't she? But did she make the cursed tape? A case of synchronized dreaming says no.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 3: Synchronicity  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 3 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,222  
 **Summary:** Jodie's quite the little trickster, isn't she? But did she make the cursed tape? A case of synchronized dreaming says no.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to KaijaWest and Meredevachon for their betas of this chapter.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #3 Rule/Ruler and Coclaim100 Prompt #3 Moments.  
 **Notes:** Geez, you take Jodie, stick her in a new environment, and she becomes a really different character!

Looking from one person to the other, Jodie exclaimed, "You think _I_ did this?"

Quinn gave Svetlana a knowing look, smirking, and narrowed his eyes at his roommate. "That's a nice tone you're using. I almost believe you're innocent."

Jodie rolled her eyes. "Okay, yeah, Quinn, I can see how this looks bad. I'm a Film student, I like horror movies, yadda yadda yadda. But I didn't make any weird tape. Like I'd break into our mailbox and make us have to pay to fix it."

"Uh, sorry! Not buying it." Quinn leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and stuffed it into his mouth. Svetlana was allowing him to do most of the talking, eating popcorn out of her hand much more daintily. "You're talking to me like I haven't been the victim of several of your pranks in the past."

"Like Halloween prank," Svetlana interrupted, finding that she did have something to add to the conversation after all.

Quinn pointed at her in agreement. "Yeah! Remember the time you dressed up in the slasher costume and jumped out and pretended to stab me and Svet last Halloween? You used fake blood and everything."

"Well, yes, but - "

Svetlana added in a mumble, "That time, I _did_ wet my pants."

"And then there was the time you used the puppet to make it seem like a monster was bursting from your stomach."

Jodie grinned. "That was pretty funny. For just a second, you totally believed you were in a scene from _Alien_."

"Well, _again_ , you used fake blood. But you know, the most incriminating prank you pulled was the web video," Quinn pointed at her with a hand full of popcorn.

"Oh, the web video..." Svetlana nodded, remembering.

"Oh God..." mumbled Jodie.

Quinn leaned in to relate the story, although Jodie already knew the details. "You make a webpage as a class project that looks like just another video blog from a pretty college student, but of course, in the background, someone in a mask walks by the doorway." He let out a mock gasp, putting his hands to his mouth. "Does the anonymous college student know the man is in her house? No, she doesn't! And as Miss College Student continues unaware, the masked man keeps passing by the doorway, each time holding a new weapon he can possibly use on her."

"Quinn, I know this story already..."

He didn't stop. "Finally, as the girl tells her blog viewers that the news is all abuzz over the escape of a dangerous mental patient in the area, the masked man sneaks up on her and starts to choke her with a rope. She falls limp, and the man turns off the camera. Pretty harmless little goof when it's kept between just you and your class, right?"

"But?" Jodie sighed. She was just playing her part, saying what she had to to get the story over with.

"But nooooo, you had to share it with the entire Internet! The college paper gets a hold of the story, then the local paper, and finally there's a news crew at your mother's door trying to find out if you're alright!" Quinn ticked these points off on his fingers. "I had people at college asking me if my ex Jodie was dead. I said yeah, and I killed her, because I was the one in the mask."

Svetlana chuckled.

"That was my most successful project ever," smirked Jodie. "People actually thought the video was real."

"Yeah. I was part of that, and you want me to buy that you didn't do this one? Try it on someone who doesn't recognize your handiwork." Quinn tossed a piece of popcorn at her, secure and cocky in the knowledge that he had proven his point.

"As much as I'd like to be able to take credit for something that has you this worked up, I did not make the video that you watched, Quinn," Jodie insisted again.

He still shook his head. "You just want us to sweat for a whole week before you spring your next big scare."

"Uuuugh." Jodie threw up her hands in defeat. "I give up. I can't make you believe me. Where is the tape anyway? It sounds wicked. I want to watch it."

"Sorry, your mom took it."

"Awwww. But you'll get it back soon?"

"Whenever." Quinn looked at Svetlana, cocked his head toward the bedroom, and stood up. "We're off to bed. Night, you walking spook show."

Jodie watched them head out of the kitchen, but called them back before they reached Quinn's bedroom. "The person on the phone said 'seven days'?"

"Ooh, good one, pretending you don't know."

"Quinn..."

He sighed. "Yes, that's what they said."

"Did they mean _exactly_ seven days? Like, seven days after you watched the tape, something would happen?" Jodie asked.

"Seems that way."

"Then what time was it that you watched it? We should keep an eye on the clock next Thursday night."

Quinn, checking his watch, replied, "I don't know, sometime between 1 and 1:30AM?"

"That sound about right," agreed Svetlana.

He turned to her. "You see what she's doing? Jodie needs to know when to spring her trap."

Jodie looked up at the ceiling and sighed loudly.

Once Quinn got into his bedroom, he stretched and yawned, realizing he was too tired even for a little late night TV. He didn't have any classes the next day until the afternoon, so he could sleep in. That was the best feeling, being able to sleep in... almost as nice as what he was in the mood for before bed. Quinn never seemed to be too tired for that. Svetlana didn't need much convincing, and he was soon stripping off his clothes, just dropping them next to the bed and leaving them where they fell. The only piece of clothing Quinn ever showed any real respect was the denim jacket he got in Japan, with the kanji for "Live" on the back.

From her current place in the bathtub, Jodie could hear them in the next room, and she fumed to herself over it. How could Quinn be so oblivious to the fact that she still had feelings for him? She closed her eyes and tried to tune out the sound of Svetlana, and only hear Quinn. Jodie so did like the sound of him, and had since their first night together. Until he decided they were too different to be a couple, that is. Boys could be so dense. She remembered many times they spent together, going to the carnival, passing notes in high school, making out under the bleachers... sometimes Jodie thought she'd do anything to have those moments back. How Quinn had confused her after they'd broken up, asking her if she wanted to share an apartment at college, and for the first few weeks of living together, often slipping into her bedroom to fool around in the mornings. He'd said many ex's had the occasional "booty call," but he never understood that Jodie still wanted to be more to him than that. Quinn might understand it better if she'd only tell him.

Listening to him, Jodie knew that if she took the initiative to slip into Quinn's bedroom right now, he'd be all for it; most any heterosexual male with a pulse would be up for a threesome with two girls. But she doubted Svetlana would appreciate it. Besides, Jodie couldn't let it happen, no matter how much she longed to be on the other side of the wall. She had promised herself after the last time, no more. It would only happen again if they were in love. It was her own personal rule.

Still, Quinn didn't make this any easier. When he'd been talking about the blog video they'd made, he'd said she was _pretty_.

Almost 3AM, and Quinn gave a sigh and a yawn and cuddled up to his pillow to snooze the rest of the night away, with Svetlana cradled into the crook of his arm.

He was dressed, approaching the top of a well in a field surrounded by trees. Hey... it was the well from the tape. The tape he'd watched with Svet and Jolene. Quinn figured he must be dreaming. The well had a big crack in one side, where some of the bricks were missing. Quinn put his fingers into the crack and felt along the edges. Rough stone. Dirt under his fingertips. If this was a dream, why did it feel so real?

On a hill close by stood the tree from the videotape, the tree that literally had been burning. It was lit up with red and gold fall leaves. Horses trotted along the hill; it was all a gorgeous scene. But Quinn knew something wasn't right here. He could feel it when he ran his hand over the stones.

The woman from the tape, the mother figure, stood beside the well, pulling petals off a rose and dropping them into it. They drifted down into the darkness.

Quinn blinked as he noticed Svetlana standing next to him. "Hey. Are you having a dream about this stupid well too? What's this about?"

Svetlana shook her head. She seemed frightened. "Does she see us?"

The sound of their voices caused the woman to notice them. She slowly looked up at Quinn and Svetlana. Her face was haggard. Troubled. "Do you know what I did to my daughter?"

After glancing at Svetlana, he replied, "Can't say I do."

The woman looked down into the well with regret written all over her face. "You will."

They gazed at each other again, and then took a peek into the well with a bit of hesitation. Nothing but blackness. "Did you have something you wanted to tell us? I mean, what's up?"

The woman moved around the well, closer to them. They could now see that she was not walking, but rather floating. Svetlana moved back with a fearful gasp. "Do you think I did the right thing?" the woman asked.

Quinn took a few steps back himself. The woman continued advancing on him. "I can't answer that question until I know what you did."

She stopped right in front of Quinn, sizing him up with a critical gaze. "Wait seven days." She brought a hand up from her side; in it, she held a black garbage bag. "I believe this will be a perfect fit for you." She lunged forward and wrapped the sack around Quinn's head.

He bellowed in his sleep, struggling with the bag. "HEEEEY! What - get this OFF ME!!"

Quinn was struggling with his bed sheets, which had gotten tangled around his head. He grappled with the lady, who held the bag over his head; he grappled with the sheets, which were so twisted that Svetlana had to work to even begin to help him get them off. Quinn gasped for air. The woman grabbed a piece of stone from the side of the well and raised it to strike Quinn in the head. With a piercing cry, Svetlana grasped her wrist and wrestled with her to keep her from hitting him. They both finally realized they were awake, only fighting bunched up sheets, which eventually gave Quinn enough slack to pull them from his head and throw them across the room, panting.

"Quinn, you okay? Can you breathe?" Svetlana asked.

He looked at her in the dark as he tried to digest what had just happened. "Goddamn sheets." Rolling his eyes, he plopped back on the bed, covering his face with his hands. "I can't believe that stupid tape is giving me nightmares now. Shit."

"Quinn..." Svetlana shivered, looking around the room. "We were next to that well, the one from the tape, and the mother attacked you with a plastic bag."

"Yeah, I know," he said absently.

She leaned down closer to him. "Do you realize we just had the same dream?"

  
it won't stop


	4. Day 4: Suffer the Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's dog, Mukluk, senses the curse overshadowing his master. Quinn and Svetlana have another synchronized dream, but this time, they are rescued by a blond stranger.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 4: Suffer the Nightmare  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 4 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,590  
 **Summary:** Quinn's dog, Mukluk, senses the curse overshadowing his master. Quinn and Svetlana have another synchronized dream, but this time, they are rescued by a blond stranger.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to KaijaWest and Meredevachon for their betas of this chapter.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #4 Blood and Coclaim100 Prompt #4 Sight.  
 **Author's Notes:** This chapter is a cross-over with _Supernatural_ (Dean Winchester makes a brief cameo.)  
The scene with Janet and Kelsey playing cards is based on true events, hee. My niece and nephew were both under ten and I was teaching them to play poker with "Sailor Moon" cards. We played for candy and pennies. Within an hour, they were both _royally kicking my ass_ at poker. It was a scream. XD  
"Purple monkey dishwasher" is a phrase from _The Simpsons_. The characters were passing a message from person to person, like you'd do in the Telephone game, and as always with Telephone, the message got screwed up by the time it reached the last person. The cryptic phrase "purple monkey dishwasher" got added onto the end of the message.

  


        The next morning, while Quinn brushed his hair in the mirror and Svetlana worked on her make-up, she confronted him about the night before. "Are we ever going to talk about it?"

        Quinn didn't immediately get what she meant. "Svet, we were hollering and screaming bloody murder. Jodie had to come check on us. She didn't know we'd both be sitting there naked on the bed with the covers thrown across the room." He moved his head from side to side to narcissistically check his hair from different angles. "I'm sure she's just as embarrassed as you are."

        "That's not what I'm talking about," she replied. "I'm talking about us dreaming the same thing. That's really freaky, Quinn."

        "I know it is. But what do you want me to do about it?"

        Svetlana thought about that for a moment, and finally shook her head. "I don't know, I guess just admit that there's something weird going on here. Stop pretending that Jodie made the video."

        "If she didn't make it, then who did?" Satisfied, Quinn put down his brush, turning to her. "Are you ready yet?"

        "I don't know, and no." Her tone was irritated. Svetlana didn't like being rushed, and she liked Quinn's stubborn denial even less. "Don't you believe in anything... outworldly?"

        Rolling his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. "I think you mean _other_ worldly. Svet, we've got to get to my parent's house and pick up my dog before they leave for work, and you're slowing things down by praddling on about cursed videotapes. Okay, Svet, out with it. What's your big theory?"

        Not appreciating his tone, Svetlana worked on her make-up and didn't look at him as she spoke. "I'm not sure. But I know that Jodie didn't make that tape. She doesn't have that power."

        "Power?"

        She glanced at him for only a second before continuing, her words halting and unsure. "The tape, it... it has some sort of... _spell_ on it. After you watch it, you have nightmare. Freaky nightmare, like what happen to us last night."

        Quinn just stared at her for a short time before bursting into snickery laughter. "A spell? Svet, are you listening to yourself?"

        Svetlana's bottom lip trembled as she tried to finish putting on her mascara. "Don't make fun of me, Quinn Kirkland. Do you have a better explanation?"

        "Hey... hey, I'm sorry." He recognized the signs of a girl about to cry. Quinn turned her toward him and wrapped his arms around her hips; she reluctantly allowed him to do it, but didn't look him in the eyes. "Don't cry, okay? I guess I have to admit that I don't fully understand what's going on. But I don't believe in curses or spells. The dream last night... it was just a fluke. The tape freaked us out and..." Even he was running out of words to explain what was happening. "...and we... we just had a nightmare. It won't happen again, so let's just forget it."

        Ten minutes later, they were on their way out the door. Jodie busied herself in the kitchen. When she saw Quinn and Svetlana pass by, she hid her face behind the open freezer door and mumbled, "Bye," back to Quinn's call that they were going out. They'd both just been sitting there on the bed, naked as jaybirds! How embarrassing!

        Quinn's father was already gone when they arrived, but his mother, Dahlia, was still home, just finishing up her omelette. She smiled at them both and asked them to hurry up and get Mukluk so she could lock up and head off to work.

        Mukluk was a seven-year-old Alaskan Malamute, Quinn's pride and joy. He kept him at his parent's house most of the time because a small apartment was no place for such a large, graceful, beautiful dog. The animal needed room to run around in, like the Kirkland's ample yard. Dahlia opened the back door and called, "Mukkie! Daddy's here! Time to go walkies!"

        The porch filled with the sound of panting and furry feet bounding into the house as Mukluk ran to the sound of her voice. Quinn stood in the foyer and clapped his hands. "Hey Mukkie! Come 'ere boy." His face shone with a proud, loving smile.

        The dog heard and saw his master, steered toward him, and suddenly stopped with a flurry of sliding paws and skittish whimpers. Mukluk looked at Quinn as if he wasn't sure he knew him. He gazed at Dahlia, looked back at Quinn, gave Svetlana a short glance, and then looked to Dahlia again for an explanation with another confused whimper. Everything in the dog's expression said he wasn't sure he should go to Quinn, that he wasn't sure his master was... safe?

        Dahlia's brow furrowed. "What's the matter, Mukluk?"

        Mukluk whimpered again, looking from one person to another.

        "Come on, Mukkie." Quinn, bewildered, clapped his hands again. "You wanna go walkies, huh?"

        Dahlia laughed awkwardly, having no clue what could be up with her son's pet. "It hasn't been _that_ long since you've seen Quinn. Maybe you should show him the leash."

        Quinn dutifully held up the leash. Trying to help, Svetlana showed Mukluk the frisbee they'd brought. The dog responded favorably, crawling a little closer to them, and whimpered again.

        "What's the matter, boy?" asked Quinn.

        Mukluk stood up and sniffed at Quinn, his muzzle bobbing up and down. He cocked his head curiously to one side. Master didn't smell quite right.

        The dog's eyes skimmed past Svetlana to a corner behind her and Quinn. Instantly, Mukluk went into protective, guarding mode, and began to growl fiercely. The fur on his back stood on end more than usual, his ears pricked up, and his tail stiffened. Everyone backed up a step.

        Dahlia saw only an empty corner. "What's up, Mukkie? There's nothing there."

        Svetlana realized that she could see something in the spot Mukluk was reacting to, but only out of the corner of her eye. It was a little girl, dark-haired... her hair covering most of her face. At least, that's what it looked like from what she could see of it. It... it was the girl from the videotape...

        Svetlana looked over at Quinn. The expression on his face sent chills up her spine. He could see the little girl too. Frightened, but trying to hide it, Quinn turned his head sharply to glare at the corner. Svetlana looked too. When they stared directly at the spot, they couldn't see the child anymore. She just disappeared from view.

        Mukluk stopped growling at the corner rather abruptly. He looked at the people around him with confusion, then padded over and nudged Quinn's hand with his muzzle.

        Quinn jumped at the unexpected contact. "Uh... hey... hey boy." He crouched down to pet the dog, who no longer seemed so wary of him. Quinn swallowed hard. They all were wondering what had just happened.

        Noticing her son's pallor and shocked eyes, Dahlia ran a hand over his head and asked, "You okay, Quinn?"

        He tried to shake it off. "Yeah, I'm just wondering what was up with Mukkie." Quinn put on a smile he didn't feel.

        On their way out of the house, Svetlana looked at him with a drawn mouth and uneasy eyes. "Did you see that little girl?"

        "Of course I saw her; couldn't you tell?" Quinn replied a little shortly.

        "She's watching us..." Svetlana almost whispered.

        With a loud swallow, he snapped back, "Quit it."

        By the time they got to the park, they were feeling a bit more relaxed, ready for some leisurely play with Quinn's dog. They played a little frisbee catch, each of them racing Mukluk for it just for fun.

        "I'm going to get it before you!" Quinn cried as he ran for the frisbee. The Malamute ecstatically raced next to his master and barked with glee, tongue lolling out to the side. He beat the dog by a hair, got down on all fours, and took the frisbee in his mouth, growling comically. "Rrrr, rrrr, mine, mine!"

        Svetlana laughed and watched Mukluk try to get it from him. "You realize that have doggie drool on it?"

        Not having thought of that, Quinn made a surprised, funny face and instantly spit out the frisbee with a disgusted, "Puh!"

        After another twenty minutes of play and a long drink from the water fountain for all of them (the frisbee used as a water dish for Mukluk), they spent some time lying in the grass and staring up at the sky, a favorite thing of Quinn's to do on a lazy mid-morning. "Isn't it a beautiful day? How could anybody have a problem on a day like today?" he asked, looking up at the swaying tree branches above them.

        The night before, they'd been up extremely late, and suffered the nightmare. The lost sleep caught up with them for several minutes while lying there in the grass. First Quinn, then Svetlana, fell asleep. Even Mukluk yawned as he lay down next to his snoozing master.

        Quinn approached a table where his older sister, Janet, and her two-year-old daughter, Kelsey, were sitting. Janet was shuffling a deck of cards quite rapidly. Both she and Kelsey were clothed in a predominance of dressy black, for some reason. Janet had her dark hair pulled back on the sides, and had done the same to Kelsey's light brown hair, tying it back with a big bow. Kelsey's little legs, sheathed in white tights, bobbled back and forth under the table. "Hey Quinnster. Did you come to play?" Janet asked.

        He smiled. "You know I'm always up for a game. What are we playing for, pennies or candy?"

        Kelsey said brightly, "Mommy's teaching me to play poker!"

        Quinn tried to sit down, but Janet put her foot against his chair and shoved it away from him. "You can't play right now."

        Taking it as a typical older sister joke, Quinn scowled at her and said, "Why not?"

        "Because you haven't done it yet." She started to deal out cards for herself and Kelsey at, again, a rapid pace.

        Quinn was, of course, bewildered. "Done what?"

        "How should I know, I haven't even seen the tape," she said with a shrug. "Do you remember when we were kids and we'd play Telephone? Everyone would sit in a circle and one person would start out with a phrase that they'd whisper to the next person, and the phrase would go around the group until it came back to the person who first said it? This is like that, except there are tons of circles that branch out until you can't find the origin anymore. It never ends, Quinn. It just goes on and on." She pointed out a set of nearby balcony doors, as if to say he should go there.

        "Telephone! I like that game. Purple monkey dishwasher!" Kelsey giggled.

        Quinn left them with the sound of Kelsey giggling in his ears, heading toward those open french doors. They did not open onto a balcony, but onto the clearing, the clearing with the well. Here he was again. Somehow, he always ended up back here. Quinn rolled his eyes, throwing up his arms in defeat. "Not this. Hey, why am I dreaming about this stupid well so much? Hello? Creepy floating lady, where are you?"

        Svetlana huddled at his side. Where did she come from? "Quinn, it's happening again. How do we make it stop?"

        Quinn turned his head and yelped at what he saw. It couldn't have been more unexpected and cryptic to him. He recoiled in surprise to see his own fraternal twin sister Danica floating upright beside the well. Although she should have been standing firmly on the ground, her feet hovered a foot off its surface. Her eyes had become mirrors - no whites, no irises, no pupils, just mirrors that reflected his face. Even stranger, a spiral of fire flowed between various spots on Danica's body, like a living, liquid river of flames. It continued to move as Quinn approached her.

        "Danica?! What... what's going on?! What are you doing? And no weird dream talk!"

        Danica turned her mirror eyes to him. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I wish I knew enough to save you." Her voice sounded like he had never heard it, all deep and echoing. "I see with new sight, with these eyes, but I can't see the future."

        Svetlana looked up at Quinn's sister in awe.

        "What's that... that stuff coming out of you?" he asked.

        "Serpent fire. What do you think?" she replied sarcastically, as if he should know what that is. Then her face became sad, looking down at him in anguish. "It's all for you, Quinn. You belong to Samara now. The well is her home, and will soon be yours."

        In reaction to that statement, Svetlana whimpered and began to weep. "Something bad going to happen to us!"

        The next sound that met Quinn's ears sent a chill through him. It sounded like fingernails scratching along the bricks of the well... almost like someone was climbing it with their bare hands. The scratching noise grew suddenly loud, like frantic rats trapped in a wall, coming right at him.

        A man Quinn did not recognize ran up next to him. He was quite handsome, with dirty blond hair cropped close to his head and a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Quinn barely had time to register that the man was wearing some sort of golden, horned amulet around his neck. "If you're going to be here, at least arm yourself!" the man shouted.

        Quinn looked around. "Arm myself with - " Before he could finish the question, he saw another shotgun sitting on the rim of the well, on the opposite side from where he stood. Quinn turned to get it, and suddenly, the scratching sound coming from within the well stopped.

        Very slowly and carefully, Quinn placed his hand on the rim of the well and reached for the gun on the other side... when the ice cold, wet, grey hand of someone who had drowned long ago came up from within the darkness and clamped down on his wrist.

        Quinn had barely even gasped and begun to recoil when the unknown male cried, "Watch it!" and shoved his gun into the well, aiming right for the person's face. The blast of the shotgun still rang in Quinn's ears when he came awake a moment later.

        "YAH!!" He awakened in the park with a great start, his entire body jerking. Mukluk yelped and began to get up on his paws, as his master had startled him too. He blinked several times before looking over at Svetlana. "Did we fall asleep?"

        Svetlana was just waking up; her eyes filled with tears. "Quinn, I don't like these dreams. I want them to go away."

        "Hey, shhhhh..." He gave her a brief hug. "Okay, maybe the dreams aren't going to stop. We need to go back to my apartment and... we'll research this thing on the Internet. Jolene said there was a website, right?"

        Svetlana nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes. She pointed at Quinn's face just as he started to feel the warm fluid running to his lip. "Quinn, your nose is bleeding."

        He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Yup, bleeding all right. "Have you got any tissues?" While she looked in her purse, Quinn went to check his watch. "How long have we been asleep?"

        His eyes opened wide in shock as he pushed up his sleeve to reveal the mark of a hand burned into his skin.

it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
 _Supernatural_ is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**


	5. Day 5: Finding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn, Svet, and Jodie use the Internet to find out more about the videotape. They stumble upon someone very familiar with it: Vanessa. Unfortunately for Jolene, she begins experiencing the effects of the tape also in the form of hallucinations.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 5: Finding Out  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 5 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,474  
 **Summary:** Quinn, Svet, and Jodie use the Internet to find out more about the videotape. They stumble upon someone very familiar with it: Vanessa. Unfortunately for Jolene, she begins experiencing the effects of the tape also in the form of hallucinations.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks, as always, to KaijaWest and Meredevachon for putting up with me.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #5 Lost Haven and Coclaim100 Prompt #5 Discussions.  
 **Author's Notes:** Vanessa is a character from the short film "Rings," which was used as a promotional bridge between the first movie and the second. The hot blond with the shotgun is Dean Winchester, a character from the show _Supernatural_. The dream that Quinn describes about running through quicksand to escape aliens is an actual dream that I had once, heheh.  
I just wanted to put the note in here that I have made my final decision on the time period of this fanfic - it starts in March 2004. I was having trouble deciding because the movies put _The Ring Two_ as happening six months after _The Ring_. But then, the promotional website for _Ring Two_ set Jake's death at early 2005. (Jake being the kid who died at the beginning of the movie.) This was just a distortion of the website, done because that's when the movie was set to be released. They couldn't very well say Jake died in 2003 when the actual year was 2005. For the sake of this fanfic, though, time can be set back. So, that's what I'm going to do. It works much better for my purposes for the story to start in early 2004.

  
        As she stood near Quinn's doorway with the phone to her ear, Jodie marveled over how easily he switched from one mood to another. When he'd come home, he and Svetlana had been wide-eyed and freaked out over something that had happened at the park. Now, Quinn was lying on his bedroom floor, playing with his dog. Mukluk stood over him while Quinn scratched the pooch behind the ears and rubbed his sides, fluffing up his already puffy fur. Jodie thought it must be her ex's trademark habit of deflecting the truth and going into a state of denial.

        "Hey, Mukkie. Hey you old shoe," Quinn said in a cutesy voice. "Are you a good dog? Hm? You a good doggie?"

        Mukluk responded by licking his face.

        Jodie, shaking her head, went back to her telephone call. "How can Quinn and Svet be having these awful nightmares and you get nothing, Mom?"

        Jolene had taken a few minutes away from her latest patient to take her daughter's call. Timmy Wharton sat in the chair with a look of trepidation on his face, not sure if he liked having his visit delayed or not. After all, it was a _dental_ appointment, and he was only nine. Many would be surprised to know that the trampy blonde in the bar hanging around with all the roughnecks was a _dentist_ Monday through Friday, but everyone had to work somewhere, and some led exciting double lives. "I don't know, sweetie," Jolene replied, giving Timmy a little wave. "I'm telling ya, I haven't had any bad dreams. Tell Quinn he's just a wimp."

        Jodie had to snicker. "Alright. Let us know if you have any, okay? And bring the tape back after work today."

        "Okay."

        "Oh, how did everyone react at the party?"

        Now Jolene snickered. "You should have seen their faces when all their cells rang at the same time. Most of them thought it was pretty cool. One chick had Hollister scramble for a blank tape so she could make a copy for her brother. Said her bro was into freaky art films. Ah, Misty and Shannon. You know them, right?"

        "Yeah, Misty, the dark-haired girl and her brother with the chick's name."

        Snickering again, Jolene said, "Yeah." She saw Timmy looking at her. "Honey, I gotta go. There's a patient waiting for me."

        "Don't hurt him too bad, Mom." They both chuckled and said their good-byes. Jodie looked at Quinn, then Svetlana, who was sitting at the desk in front of his computer. "No bad dreams."

        Slumping, Svetlana wondered, "How can that be?"

        "You're both wimps," Jodie answered with a laugh.

        After hanging up the phone, Jolene went back to her patient, immediately trying to reassure him. "Hi, Timmy. Remember, you're just here for a checkup and cleaning, okay?" She didn't mention any words like "drill" or "tooth extraction."

        Jolene's dental assistant stood by with a small smile on her face.

        The boy nodded. "I know, Dr. Searling."

        "Okay, then just sit back and relax." She squeezed Timmy's arm lightly. "Now, I'm about to say something very cliche' for a dentist, but it must be said." Jolene grinned. "Open wide."

        Jolene saw the boy grin, and then he opened his mouth. But she no longer saw him after that. Instead, she saw the human-like creature from the video, its intestines being pulled from its open mouth. In fact, her dental assistant was holding the intestines, doing the pulling. Jolene let out a disgusted scream and jumped back off her rolling stool. The tray of instruments next to her toppled over, followed by the sounds of many metal items clattering to the tile floor.

        "Dr. Searling?" the assistant said, still holding on to the wet string of organs.

        Panting, Jolene closed her eyes tightly for several seconds. When she dared to open them again, everything was back to normal, and the assistant and Timmy were looking at her with confusion all over their faces.

        "Dr. Searling? Are you okay?" the assistant asked again, now holding an innocent file with Timmy's name on it.

        Inside, Jolene thought, _"I'm not so sure,"_ but on the outside, she just tried to recover without anyone thinking she had a mental problem. "Uhh... I'm fine. I just thought I saw a bug on the counter over there. But, now I see it's just a paperclip."

        Timmy began to laugh. "You're a grownup! Grownups aren't supposed to be afraid of anything."

        The assistant laughed along with him, humoring the child. Up until this moment, Jolene had liked to believe she _wasn't_ afraid of anything, but now...

        Across town, in Quinn's room, Svetlana turned back to the computer. "Did your mother remember the address of the website?"

        Jodie shook her head. "Google 'cursed tape' or something. We'll find it."

        By the time Svetlana found the good stuff, Quinn was off the floor and sitting next to her, reading through the sites too. Jodie stood beside the desk, looking over Svet's shoulder, while Mukluk just sat and watched them all, occasionally trolling for strokes and scritches behind the ears. "Let me get this straight. People watch this tape _on purpose_ to experience the nightmares for themselves, using it in some twisted way to _get high_?" said Quinn incredulously.

        "Looks that way," replied Jodie. "Also looks like some people hallucinate as well, and are able to take freaky pictures of what they see." She glanced at a few photographs in the picture gallery. "Have you guys checked this thing yet, about being marked in pictures?"

        Quinn and Svetlana looked at each other before he grabbed the digital camera off the bedside table and handed it to Jodie. "Scan the last few pics."

        She did. Jodie's brow furrowed deeply. "What the hell is going on here?"

        The two sitting in front of the computer had no answer. Quinn pointed at one of the pictures that had been uploaded by a visitor to the message board. "Am I understanding this correctly? These people claim to have _hallucinated_ these things, and taken _pictures_ of them?"

        "Yup," replied Jodie. "That's what it says right here." She pointed to it on the monitor.

        "Are you fucking kidding me? You can't take a picture of a hallucination," said Quinn in protest of the claim.

        Jodie shrugged. "You can't make people dream the same thing at the same time, either."

        "Touché," Svetlana chuckled.

        Quinn saw a possible ray of hope in figuring this thing out. "Why don't we put up a post on the message board and see if anyone will answer? After all, they've all watched the tape and gotten through their seven days, right?"

        Everyone thought that was a good idea; not like they had any others. Ten minutes after Quinn had posted his plea for information, he received an Instant Message.

         _Vanessa7days: Who watched the tape?_

        Quinn looked up when he heard the IM sound, and stopped playing with Mukluk long enough to go back to the computer. Svetlana and Jodie also renewed their attention.

         _Quinnster65: A bunch of people. Who is this?_

        Vanessa7days: Vanessa, from Astoria, Oregon. I've seen the tape. What have you seen?

        Quinn told her about their nightmares. _Does any of this ring a bell?_ he typed.

        There was a pause before Vanessa replied.

         _Vanessa7days: Which tape did you watch?_

        The three friends reeled. "Which tape?! Is she kidding?" said Quinn.

        "There's more than one?"

        Quinn typed Jodie's question.

         _Vanessa7days: Hell yes. Do you know which tape?_

        Quinn gave it some thought, and replied, _We don't know. Is the blond guy in the second dream at all familiar?_

         _Vanessa7days: I don't know, I'd have to see him._

        Turning to Svet, Quinn said, "I know you haven't done it in a while, but the times I've seen you draw, you were pretty good at it. Especially portraits."

        She just shrugged. "And?"

        "Can you draw the guy for us? We could scan it."

        Svetlana nodded. "I could try."

        While she began her pencil drawing of the man with the shotgun, Quinn continued his conversation with Vanessa.

         _Vanessa7days: You sure there's nothing else about your dreams that could tell me which tape it was?_

        Vanessa was too excited to think clearly; all she had to do was get Quinn to describe some of the tape's imagery and she'd know which one it was. But she had a live one here! He knew nothing about the videotapes. _Nothing._ Guaranteed Day 7! Score!

        It took several seconds, but Quinn's mind finally clicked into place on the matter. _You know how I said my sister was in the dream? She said Samara. That we belonged to Samara now._

         _Vanessa7days: Oh._

        "That's it?" Quinn and Jodie said together.

         _Quinnster65: That's all you've got to say?_

        The amount of time it took Vanessa to reply made Quinn uneasy. Like she was choosing her words carefully. _What else do you want me to say?_ she finally answered.

         _Quinnster65: What's going on here?_

        Vanessa7days: You'll have to figure it out for yourselves like the rest of us had to.

        Quinnster65: You can't even throw us a bone?

        He secretly wished he was there with this girl, in person. At least then, Quinn could attempt to charm the information out of her.

        She eventually replied.

         _Vanessa7days: Tell you what. You document the stuff you see, and upload your drawings and pictures to the website, and I'll tell you things that will help you figure it out._

        They looked at each other, happy to receive some sort of clue.

         _Quinnster65: You got it. What can you tell us?_

        After twenty seconds or so, Vanessa said, _Find Samara Morgan._

        That they did. Two hours later, Svetlana had finished her drawing and even doodled a couple other faces at the bottom of the page, and they had at least some of their answers. There were several helpful articles, but the most helpful had been written by a reporter at the _Seattle Post Intelligencer_ , who had gotten the exclusive full scoop from another reporter named Rachel Keller. Quinn sensed a real reluctance from this Keller woman to tell the story; she had even left the newspaper and moved somewhere else after the incident in question. But, the bare bones of the story had been told.

        Rachel and a friend, a photographer named Noah Clay, had found the body of a child in an old well that was out of use. Samara Morgan. Eight years old when she disappeared, in 1978. Samara's parents had reported her missing, but the whole time, they knew where she was. Samara's remains proved that she had suffered blunt force trauma to the head shortly before she was thrown into the well, where she succumbed at some point after.

        Rachel claimed that Anna Morgan, Samara's mother, had attacked Samara, trying to suffocate her with a plastic garbage bag and striking her in the head with a loose stone from the well's rim before tipping her limp body into the darkness of the well. When asked how she knew this, Rachel replied that Richard Morgan, the child's father, had confessed it.

        Right before he committed suicide in front of her.

        Most of what Rachel had said in that article was true, but this part was a lie. Rachel knew what had happened to Samara because Samara's ghost showed it to her. The part about Richard Morgan was, unfortunately for him, only partially true. He had not confessed anything to Rachel Keller, but he _had_ killed himself in front of her.

        Anna Morgan could not pay for her crime because she, too, had committed suicide, in the late 70's. Apparently, her guilt over what she had done to Samara caught up with her.

         _Do you know what I did to my daughter?_

        You will.

        There was nothing in the article about how Rachel and Noah were tipped off as to the location of the well that held Samara Morgan's body, which was not on Morgan Ranch property. (A rental cabin had been built on top of the well near Shelter Mountain many years ago.) Perhaps Richard Morgan told them. But Quinn and the others thought they knew how.

        "It's the tape," Quinn said. His good mood had completely dissolved. He looked quite upset at the realization that this couldn't all be wished away, that something very real had happened to some little girl he didn't even know, and they were now a part of it. The tape was not fictional. It was about an actual murder. And they were _dreaming_ about it. The tape was having physical effects on them, effects that could only be described as supernatural, and they had no idea how to stop it. The safety of denial was partially lost to Quinn now. "The reporter and her friend, they saw the tape. It's all about Samara. Her mom's on it, and a bunch of scenes from her life, and..."

        "The place where she die," Svetlana finished.

        "Right." Quinn swallowed hard. "They followed the tape to the end. They found Samara. So why is the tape still going around? Whoever made it, don't they know that Samara's been found?"

        "I just want to know who made it in the first place," Jodie commented. She had that gleam in her eye, the one that said she was too interested in this to let it go until she got her own questions answered. It was like a good murder mystery. "What were they trying to accomplish? How much did they know? I mean, they had to know how Samara died, and where. So why didn't _they_ tell the cops?"

        "I don't know, but... maybe _he_ does." Quinn pointed to the drawing Svetlana had made of the man with the shotgun. "He seemed to be trying to protect us from the girl in the well. From Samara." Now that he knew her real name, he might as well use it. "He shot her in the face."

        Svetlana took her feet off the desk and sat up; she'd gotten comfortable while drawing. "About that - why he shoot her? This girl, she's a ghost, right? I mean, she's been dead for more than 25 years. How do you shoot a _ghost_ in the face?"

        No one had an answer. "Let's scan this drawing and send it to the message board. Maybe someone there will recognize him."

        Once Quinn had started scanning the image, Svetlana pointed to the doodles at the bottom of the page. "Crop those out, okay?"

        Quinn glanced at the scanned image, and at the faces at the bottom. The expression on his face was unreadable. "Of course."

        Jodie leaned over Quinn's shoulder to better examine the drawing he was scanning. "Woo, damn, Svetlana, either you're an incredible artist or that guy you two saw in your dream is _smoking_ hot."

        Svetlana had to grin. "Yeah. Whoever he is, he's pretty good looking. He can save me anytime."

        "I hope once I watch the tape that I dream about him too," Jodie added. "And you know what kind of dreams I mean..."

        The two girls shared a laugh. Quinn's expression became troubled at the thought of Jodie watching the tape. After the dreams he'd experienced, he wasn't sure he wanted anyone else to see it.

        Quinn uploaded the image to his Photobucket account and then posted it on the message board, asking people whether or not they recognized the guy. No one seemed to know him, although one girl thought he was as cute as some actor who had been on the show _Dark Angel_.

        "Why you not just go round?" Svetlana cryptically asked. She had put her feet up on the desk again and resumed drawing.

        "Huh?"

        "In the dream. The guy told you to arm yourself, and you saw the other gun and lean over the well to grab it. Why didn't you just walk round to that side of the well?"

        Quinn looked frustrated. "It was a dream, Svetlana."

        "So?"

        "So _you_ can control everything that happens in your dreams?"

        She thought about it. "I guess not..."

        "You don't ever do anything stupid in dreams, like run right through the quicksand while the aliens are chasing you?" Quinn continued with some annoyance.

        "I don't know, I guess I do."

        "You have nightmares about aliens?" Jodie asked.

        "Sometimes. I don't know. What are you guys getting on my case for? It was a freakin' dream."

        "There was no way you were ever going to be able to reach the gun that way," Svetlana teasingly pressed, knowing she was just making him mad.

        "Svet..."

        "You just make it easy for Samara to grab you."

        Quinn instinctively touched his wrist. "Yeah, yeah."

        Seeing something, Jodie reached over and pushed up Quinn's sleeve. He didn't expect her to do that, and looked at her in surprise. "Quinn... what the fuck is this? The ghost touched you, and it left a _mark_?"

        All he could do was nod.

        "You didn't tell me _that_." Jodie wasn't sure if she should be excited or scared by the mark. On one hand, it was so cool, like some effects-laden horror movie. On the other, Quinn had a _handprint burned into his arm!_

        Quinn grabbed a bandanna from his closet and began to tie it around his wrist to hide the mark. When he sat back down, he received another IM from Vanessa.

         _Vanessa7days: I don't recognize the guy. But wow, hot!_

        Svetlana and Jodie exchanged amused looks.

         _Vanessa7days: Just keep posting your pics to the message board, okay? I'm sure someone will figure out who the guy is before the week is up._

        Quinn typed back a question with a little bit of a shake in his hands.

         _Quinnster65: Vanessa, what happens at the end of seven days?_

        Vanessa7days: Did you find Samara?

        Looking at Svetlana, then back at the computer screen, Quinn typed, _Yes, we found her._

        Vanessa7days: At the end of seven days, Samara finds you.

  
it won't stop


	6. Day 6: The Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa discusses her plans for Quinn and the others with a reluctant accomplice. Jolene returns the tape to Quinn after being chased around by hallucinations caused by Samara.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 6: The Works  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 6 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,660  
 **Summary:** Vanessa discusses her plans for Quinn and the others with a reluctant accomplice. Jolene returns the tape to Quinn after being chased around by hallucinations caused by Samara.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter is especially heavy on the adult language.  
 **Beta Thanks:** As always, KaijaWest and Meredevachon rock at the beta'ing!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #6 Claws and Coclaim100 Prompt #6 Indifference.  
 **Author's Notes:** Vanessa is a character from the short film "Rings," which was used as a promotional bridge between the first movie and the second. The hot blond with the shotgun is Dean Winchester, a character from the show _Supernatural_.

  
        While Quinn, Svet, and Jodie worked on their search for Samara, Vanessa worked on her own private campaign to find the perfect Day 7. The message board at her website got a lot of anonymous lurkers, but less than twenty regular visitors who did all the talking. She spent the afternoon tracking down as many of these people as possible to give them instructions on how to handle the newbies.

         _Vanessa7days: They know nothing about the tapes, Vicki. Virtually nothing. Let me handle this, okay? I'll get us a definite Day 7. Probably more than one! Wouldn't that rock?_

        Sitting in the computer room in her parent's house near Minneapolis, Vicki shifted uneasily in her chair as she thought of what to say next. How much she should challenge Vanessa was a better way to put it. She munched on some Fritos, licked her fingers, wiped them off on her pants, and then began to type.

         _Antici PationV: How are you going to handle it?_

        She could tell Vanessa was excited; the reply came back very fast.

         _Vanessa7days: String them along with just enough information to keep them interested. I won't tell them anything unless they keep uploading stuff to the message board. I want pictures, drawings, descriptions of these fucked up dreams they're having. The Works! They're seeing things no one else has seen before! I mean, some hot guy shoots Samara in the face with a gun? WTF is that?!_

         _Antici PationV: What if things start to get too intense for them? Are you going to let someone get carted off by the men in the white coats, like what happened to Kyle?_

        Vicki had really liked Kyle. He was nice to her. Always seemed interested in the things she had to say. Vanessa had let things go too far that time.

        Vanessa sat at the computer in her bedroom, laughing derisively as she read what Vicki had to say. She shook her head. Stupid, boring little wanna-be still thought that nimrod Kyle liked her, didn't she? Always bringing up that wimp. He couldn't take it. Vanessa could _always_ take it, no matter how many tapes they found. She might've lasted only five days with Samara, but she had gone all seven with Sadako, and would take on any of those evil bitches - bring them _all_ on. Vicki had no idea who she was dealing with. Vanessa knew exactly what that stupid bitch was thinking.

         _Vanessa7days: What the fuck should I care if any of these idiots get taken away to the loony bin? What were they doing watching some videotape someone stuck in their mailbox? Bunch of dumb fucks if you ask me._

         _Antici PationV: But we were all curious once. We all watched._

         _Vanessa7days: Big hairy deal. Only a total wuss would freak out that bad. Forget about fucking Kyle. He just thought he could get in your pants._

         _"Everyone can tell you're a desperate, lonely little dumbass,"_ Vanessa thought, but didn't type.

         _Antici PationV: Still, don't be mean. If it seems like these people are losing it, let them off the hook, okay?_

        Narrowing her eyes, Vanessa pecked furiously at the keyboard.

         _Vanessa7days: Vicks, don't even think of going behind my back and blabbing all the secrets, you got that? I said I would handle it._

        When Vicki read that, her face scrunched up in anger and bottled-up disgust. The way Vanessa manipulated people, and Vicki's own refusal to defy her, made her want to throw up sometimes. Why didn't she just tell that bitch off and leave the message board? Would anyone back her up? Or would she lose the only friends she felt she had? Vicki ate another handful of chips before replying.

         _Antici PationV: No need to start with the threats, okay? Just... you're going to tell them how to escape the curse before it's too late, right? This guy Quinn said a bunch of people watched the tape. They need time to do what they gotta do to save all those people._

         _Vanessa7days: No shit, Sherlock. Unbunch thy panties, OK? I. WILL. HANDLE. IT._

         _But what about that time you said you would 'handle it' with Sherise, and she fucking died, Vanessa? What about that?!_ Vicki wanted to type. But she didn't. All Vanessa had seemed to care about there was the video Sherise made on Day 6. The poor girl had experienced an entire afternoon of Samara-induced hallucinations, and filmed a good twenty minutes of footage, but Vanessa had thumbed her nose at the girl's mental state. Instead, she had taken great pains to make sure Sherise uploaded all her footage to the website before anything else happened to her. And three hours later, the girl, only fourteen, had stumbled into the street while running from something she saw and was pulverized by an SUV.

        But Vicki didn't mention any of that. Instead, she replied, _Okay Vanessa. Just make sure you do._

        Vanessa, rolling her eyes, typed back, _I shouldn't have sent you the picture this Quinn guy sent me of himself. You're all moony over him now, aren't ya?_

        Vicki blushed. _He is kinda cute..._

        That got an immediate response.

         _Vanessa7days: **DO NOT** talk to him. He'll just get everything out of you. I am SERIOUS, Vicki. I want these guys to get to Day 7. It's for the sake of the website, right? We all want the site to be cool._

        Yeah, sure. Vicki ate more of her Fritos. Sure, it was about the site.

         _Antici PationV: Whatever._

*****

        The sun started to go down on Boston. Quinn was still at it, sitting at his computer with eyes bleary from staring at the screen. He'd been practically chainsmoking all day. Mukluk lay at his feet, snoozing, and Svetlana had moved to the bed to lie down and draw whatever came into her head. She was on her stomach, pad in front of her, feet crossed and bobbing back and forth as she did a complete character study of the man with the shotgun, drawing his head from all angles and doing a few head-to-toe sketches. After that, she moved on to doodles of horses, a lighthouse, and many, many dark spirals.

        Svetlana handed Quinn another sheet of paper with drawings on it. "What do you think?"

        He stopped reading long enough to look. "Wow, Svet. You haven't taken up the pencil in so long, I had forgotten how good you were. That looks just like the guy in our dream. Anyone would recognize him if they knew him."

        Svetlana shrugged it off, obviously a little shy about her talent.

        Jodie entered the room with a plate of sandwiches. For the last few hours, she had been at her classes, and was a little worried about Quinn when he obviously hadn't been to his. "Did you just skip _all_ your classes today, Quinn?" she asked in a bit of a scolding tone.

        "Yes, Mother," he replied sarcastically. "Oh, thanks."

        As he picked up a sandwich, Mukluk raised his head and whimpered.

        "Crap. Is it getting that late? I should feed Mukkie and then take him out for another walk. But this stuff is so interesting. Something really fucked up happened to these people, Jodie." Quinn turned in his swivel chair to face her. "I've gone through some more articles, and I found a bunch on what happened on the Morgan Ranch before Samara was murdered. For years, they suffered some really bizarre hardships, mostly involving the animals. Their horses were committing suicide! They'd just go nuts, break through the fences, and drown themselves in the sea. What the hell would cause a thing like that?" He bit into one of the sandwiches she had made.

        Jodie shrugged, handing one to Svetlana. "I'll feed Mukluk, okay? You guys eat up and get ready to go out for a little fresh air. You and the dog have been cooped up too much today." She waved her hand in the general direction of the computer. "You can continue your little cursed tape research when you get back."

        Jolene was in a foul mood. Certainly not in the right humor for more hallucinations involving that tape. But it had its claws firmly planted in her flesh, didn't it? Just like what it was doing to Quinn and Svetlana when they were asleep.

        Still dressed in her work uniform, Jolene trudged across the parking lot of Quinn and Jodie's apartment building with that damn videotape in her hand. She scowled when she noticed a chair sitting in the middle of the lot. Just a little chair, all by its lonesome. It looked like the chair from the videotape. "Oh, fuck me raw," she mumbled. "Now what?"

        Nothing much dramatic happened. The chair just sat there, reminding her, _You watched the tape! Only six and a quarter days left!_ If chairs had eyeballs, it would have been giving her a big hairy one.

        As if to make sure she knew this was all a hallucination, a car on its way out of the parking lot drove right through the chair, not even touching it. The car passed through the piece of furniture like it was a ghost.

        Jolene made a face to show how tired she had become of this. Jolene Searling did not fucking see things like some alki with the DT's. She stomped past the chair and headed for her daughter's building.

        The chair began to spin in the air before her. Jolene veered around it, trying to ignore it. Now, it was in front of her again. As she walked on, the chair followed her, sliding along the pavement with a slow scraping sound. Angry, Jolene stopped and faced the chair. She talked to it like it was a person.

        "Stop it!" she yelled, scolding the piece of furniture. "That's enough now. I know you're there, okay? No entiendo?"

        The chair did not move. It seemed to stare back.

        Satisfied, Jolene continued on. The chair quickly slid around in front of her with a harsh _scraaaape_.

        "Fuck you!" she screamed, and flipped the chair off. Then she attempted to step around it again.

        As she did, out of the corner of her eye Jolene saw that the chair was suddenly occupied. The child in the well that Quinn and Svetlana had dreamed about was sitting there, soaking wet, dark hair obscuring her face. She instantly brought her hand up and grabbed Jolene's forearm, squeezing it.

        With a yelp, Jolene jumped back, yanking her arm away... from nothing and no one. The chair was gone, as was the child.

        But she was left with a red mark on her arm in the shape of a small human hand. "Oh, Jesus-jumpin'-up-and-down- _Christ_..." Jolene exclaimed under her breath as she rubbed at the burn.

        A minute later, she was letting herself in to Quinn and Jodie's apartment.

        "Hey Mom!" Jodie said brightly, until she saw her mother's face. "I should tone down the peppy tonight?"

        "Get Quinn," Jolene nearly growled.

        Jodie didn't ask any questions about what had put her mother in this mood yet. "Okay. You wanna give 'im a root canal? I could hold him down..." She dutifully got Quinn from his room. Svetlana had followed them.

        "What's u - "

        Jolene threw the videotape at him. He barely caught it. "Take this goddamn motherfuckin' evil tape back, Quinn Kirkland. Do you have any idea the shit I've seen today because of that thing? Damien Thorn cobbled it from the flames of Hell himself. I hope I never do something as stupid as laugh at an urban fucked up legend again and watch some freakin' cursed video like I did with you two chuckleheads." She gestured expressively at Quinn and Svet. "Never making _that_ mistake again. Not even if you tell me it's a porno of Brad Pitt sucking off Kiefer Sutherland will I watch it!"

        Jodie had started giggling at the _Omen_ reference and was nearly howling with laughter by the time her mother was done. "I thought you weren't having any bad dreams?"

        "Oh, no, I'm not having any bad dreams. No, bad dreams would be a welcome change of pace to the fucked up _hallucinations_ I've been having today. First, one of my patients turns into a hybrid monster with his intestines being pulled from his mouth. Then I see a jar that's supposed to be full of tongue depressors filled with twitching severed fingers instead. The water I ran in the sink to wash my hands was full of blood. And just now, that little girl paid me a visit out in the parking lot. Her chair was literally following me around, and then she grabbed me and left her lovely little handprint on me." Jolene pushed up her sleeve.

        Both Jodie and Quinn gasped. He didn't say a word at first, just untied the bandanna and showed her his own mark. "She got me in the park today." They held their forearms against each other and compared the burn-like handprints - the marks were identical in size and shape.

        Jolene shook her head. "Quinn, I've never seen anything like this. What the hell is going on?"

        "If you want, you can come with us on our walk and we'll tell you everything we know. But first..." Quinn eyed the videotape. "...this fucker's getting smashed."

        "No way!" Jodie surprised him and snatched it out of his hand. "I'm watching that fucker."

        "Oh, Jodie. No." Jolene shook her head again at her daughter. "Honey, you don't want to experience this shit. Trust me. I know you think you're the big, tough badass with all those gory movies you watch, but you've never seen anything like this. Baby, I've been _seeing things_ all day. As real as anything you see in this room. I don't know what mojo's been done to it, but that tape is some fucked up shit. I'm sorry I ever inflicted it on anybody. All those people at the party would have every right to kick my ass after this. You should _not_ watch that tape. The things you experience aren't at all cool."

        "Mom, you don't know the information we found today. There's a whole true story behind this tape. I want to follow it to the end. I want to know who made it," declared Jodie. She had that gleam in her eye again.

        "Look, Jolene, we know what we're dealing with because we've seen the tape," began Quinn, "but Jodie hasn't seen it yet. Let's take our walk, and see if we can't convince her that watching it would be a very bad idea." He glared at Jodie. "For her own good."

        Jodie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine. Try all the convincing you want. But I'm going to watch this motherfucker. After all the cool shit you guys have described, wild horses couldn't drag me from it."

        Svetlana let out a loud sigh. "Did you have to mention horses?"

  
it won't stop


	7. Day 7: Subliminal Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodie thinks she's figured out how the videotape works. Svetlana has another dream where she tries to communicate with the unknown blond, whom she sees as a protector.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 7: Subliminal Messages  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 7 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,967  
 **Summary:** Jodie thinks she's figured out how the videotape works. Svetlana has another dream where she tries to communicate with the unknown blond, whom she sees as a protector.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** ¡KaijaWest y Meredevachon son los más excelentes de betas! ¡Fabuloso! ¡GOOOOOALLLL!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #7 Awakening and Coclaim100 Prompt #7 Laughter.  
 **Author's Notes:** The blond with the shotgun is Dean Winchester, a character from the show _Supernatural_. This part of the story takes place pre-series of SPN. The "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto," part comes from the song "Mr. Roboto" by Styx. More notes at the end of the story.

  
        Something about the walk in the brisk night air put everyone in a good mood, despite the subject of their conversation. Laughter permeated their talk just as much as the warnings and caution they foisted not so subtly on Jodie. People passing by Quinn, Jodie, Svetlana, Jolene, and Mukluk on his leash often turned back and stared, wondering if they'd heard them right. They only caught snippets... "horses went crazy and broke free of their fences"... "mother murdered her"... "tape is all about her life"... "our dreams paralleled what really happened"...

        "You don't want to feel this, Jodie," Quinn assured her as they headed up the walk to their apartment building. "It's not like any horror movie; it's too real."

        "I'm going to head off, you guys. Thanks for the walk. I can't wait for this week to be over." Jolene kissed her daughter's cheek. "Don't watch the tape. It's some fucked up shit."

        Jodie wanted to roll her eyes again, but knew it would just earn her another round of lectures. Didn't they realize that the more they told her that the tape was too intense for her, the more she wanted to watch it?

        After Quinn put Mukluk in his room, he headed toward Jodie's to get the tape from her. Only a few feet from the door, it was closed in his face. "Jodie?" He knocked, but she only called for him to wait a minute. When Quinn tried the knob, he found the door to be locked.

        The familiar sounds of the videotape wafted from under the door.

        "Jodie! You idiot! Did you not hear a thing we said?!"

        The tape seemed to go on a lot longer than Quinn remembered. At least twice as long. Jodie opened the door after about five minutes.

        She held up the tape. "Here, you can have it back now."

        After snatching it from her hand, Quinn shook his head and said, "When you start having your nightmares, I'll be there to say I told you so."

        She just smiled and posed, with her other hand behind her back.

        "Why would you do that? You some kinda masochist?" Quinn bounced the tape in his hand.

        Jodie smiled ecstatically. "That was totally worth it. Somebody had a field day with the atmospheric black and white. Very cool. I can't wait to show it to my Film professor."

        "How are you going to do that? I'm not giving it back to you." Quinn taunted her, shaking the tape in Jodie's face.

        She took another tape from behind her back and imitated him, shaking it. "I made a copy."

        His mouth dropping open, Quinn tried to snatch that one too, but Jodie was too fast for him. "So that's why it took you so long to watch it."

        Jodie snickered and giggled. She showed him her cell phone. "It's on my voice mail. 'Seven days...'"

        Svetlana did not want to sleep that night, for fear there would be more nightmares. But all the sleep they had lost the night before kept catching up to her. She dozed on the bed while Quinn obsessively searched the Internet for more articles on Samara Morgan. Jodie occasionally read over his shoulder, pacing back and forth as he did his search.

        A little doll Quinn got in Japan sat on the shelf above his monitor. She was dressed in a kimono and held her hands before her in a traditional Japanese posture, with her palms together. When a button on her base was pressed, she would bow and speak one of several typical Japanese phrases. While Quinn did his searching, Jodie insisted on repeatedly pushing the button every time she passed that side of the desk.

        "So the authorities thought the horses were sick somehow?"

        "Yeah."

        "Why would that make them commit suicide?" Jodie asked.

        "Maybe the horses weren't trying to kill themselves. Maybe they didn't know what they were doing, or they were... I don't know, thirsty?" Quinn shrugged.

        "For salt water?" she laughed.

        He just shrugged again.

        "Konnichi wa." The doll bowed.

        Quinn gave it a brief glance. "Either way, the Morgans must've lost a lot of money when those horses started dying off. It's a really bizarre story, don't you think? Horses just don't behave like that." He paused to give it some thought. "I bet that creepy little girl had something to do with it."

        "Domo arigato."

        "Mr. Roboto," Jodie added.

        Although he didn't want to encourage her in her attempt to distract him from his research, Quinn couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. She giggled right along with him. It was so nice to spend time with him without anyone else in the middle. Sometimes, Jodie liked Svetlana in spite of herself, but she really preferred these times alone with Quinn. She pressed the button again, and was rewarded when the doll said the same thing.

        "Domo arigato."

        "Mr. Roboto!" Jodie said loudly, as if to make the joke stick this time.

        "Shhhh!" Quinn pointed at Svetlana, sleeping on the bed, though he was laughing at the same time.

        Jodie looked at her. "You think she can have those weird dreams on her own? Or is it something the two of you can only do together?"

        "I don't know." The mention of the dreams got Quinn thinking, and he grew solemn. "Jodie, how is something like that possible? That two people can dream the same thing at the same time? You know what disturbs me more than that, though? The fact that Anna Morgan attacked me in the same way she attacked Samara. I mean, what's that about?"

        Becoming serious too, Jodie leaned on the edge of Quinn's desk. "Well, we saw her suicide on the tape. Maybe the lady's ghost is caught in a loop. She acts out her daughter's murder, then kills herself over and over. Maybe watching the tape puts you in the loop, too."

        "But... does she want to do us harm? Does her ghost want to... to kill us?"

        Shrugging, Jodie replied, "Maybe."

        "If she can make us have bad dreams, do you think she can..." Suddenly looking a bit scared, Quinn visibly shuddered.

        "What?" Jodie looked at him a long time before bursting out laughing. "Are you actually scared, Quinn? You baby."

        "Shut up." He put a hand to his forehead and looked down at his desk. God, he was tired...

        "Quinn, don't you see? This is somebody's idea of a mindfuck. Someone who knows about this murder made a videotape about it. They got some woman who looks like Anna Morgan..."

        He tried to speak over her. "That _was_ Anna Morgan. Looked just like her."

        Jodie continued without stopping. "...to act out all these scenes, and then put the tape into rotation through video traders, or something like that. And once you watch it, you..." An idea dawned on her, recognition coming into her eyes. "Quinn! I know how they're doing it!"

        "Shhhh!" he shushed again.

        Svetlana moaned and rolled over on her back.

        But Jodie couldn't calm down. She had figured it out! "Subliminal messages! They're making you dream and hallucinate all these things through subliminal messages!"

        A measure of tension left Quinn's shoulders. "You mean... there are hidden messages on the tape?"

        She nodded. "Watching the tape puts you in a semi-hypnotic state. You're still able to respond to others around you and all that, but your mind is receiving information from the video. The hidden messages on the tape implant hypnotic suggestions in your head to see things, to dream about the Morgan family, and so on. The suggestions also tell you to disregard everything after seven days. So you think you're on some kind of countdown to death - the ultimate mindfuck. That's how you make a curse. It's a lot of trouble for someone to go to, but the explanation is really very simple." Jodie grinned triumphantly. "Fortunately for me, I am very hard to hypnotize. It probably didn't even get me."

        "Wow, Jodes... that makes a lot of sense."

        "Yes it does." Jodie put her hands on his shoulders. "Don't be afraid anymore, little Quinnster. No ghost is going to get ya."

        Laughing, he tossed her hands off. "Screw you, Leatherface."

        Svetlana groaned in her sleep again, and turned onto her side.

        "You think she's having one of those subliminal suggestion dreams right now?" Quinn asked in a quiet voice.

*****

        Svetlana knew she should stop and check to see what was wrong. However, something compelled her to keep walking. So she passed through the rented hall, down the aisle, and did not stop to check on Quinn's sisters, Danica and Janet. They were sitting on the first bench, hugging each other, and crying. Both were dressed predominantly in black.

        "Get the boy," Janet sobbed. "Get the boy, get the boy..."

        When she was only a few feet from the double doors that formed the entrance, Svetlana heard someone else crying nearby. The sobs sounded somehow familiar, so she turned her head. Her eyes widened in shock. "What are you doing here?" Svetlana exclaimed.

        The man had his head in his hands, and did not seem to hear her. She just went on, out the doors, into the clearing that led up to the well.

        Quinn was right. Everything led back here.

        Anna Morgan floated half a foot off the ground again. She looked to her right, refusing to even glance at the well next to her. The guilt was written all over her haggard face. "So, now that you know... tell me... did I do the right thing?"

        Svetlana scanned the clearing and the trees beyond. "Why isn't Quinn here? We've always dreamed together on this."

        "He's not asleep right now."

        Svetlana turned her head to see the handsome blond with the shotgun standing next to her. He continued this train of thought. "Quinn is still awake."

        "Who are you? You know what's going on, don't you?" Svetlana asked.

        The blond shook his head. "I don't know anything yet. I won't even know of the existence of a cursed videotape until I see all your names in the paper. Even then... cursed videotape? Pssht. Who would believe that?"

        "You shot Samara in the face. You try to help." Svetlana leaned in close to him. "You're here to protect us from her. Aren't you?"

        The man's face showed just as much regret as Anna's as he whispered in Svetlana's ear, "I can't save you. I won't even know that you're in danger until you're already dead."

        Svetlana jerked back, glaring into his eyes. He had the brightest green eyes she'd ever seen. "What?!"

        He tried to explain. "That's the only way we ever know that we're needed somewhere. People have to die first." The man flinched. "How else are we supposed to know? It's not like any of us are psychic."

        Anna interrupted their talk. "I thought I was doing a good thing. My little girl... she was a _monster_. We thought Samara came from a normal teenage mother, but there must've been something wrong with her to produce such an evil, _malicious_ little girl. Sometimes, she was like any other child. Cute and innocent, running around, laughing... asking for toys and pony rides... then the pony would become skittish of her. Animals are aware, you know. They could sense it long before we could."

        Confused, overloaded with information, Svetlana looked for clarification. "Samara was _adopted_?"

        Anna nodded. "I thought of suicide for years before I... took care of things." She cringed and swallowed hard. "The doctor prescribed sleeping pills for me. Samara can't hear us when we're asleep. That scares her, so she deliberately kept Richard and I awake as much as she could. Often, I would pour all the pills into my hand and just look at them for I don't know how long. Thinking about it. Wondering what it would be like to be dead. Hoping it would set me free of my daughter.

        "I loved her. I did. I loved Samara. But only her human side."

        Svetlana tried to get her to stop. "Mrs. Morgan - "

        Anna glared at her, silencing Svetlana with only one look. "I dreamed about it too. I had dreams in which I harmed Samara in all sorts of ways. Something was telling me that she needed to die. 'Kill her in water, always in water,' a voice said. Someone was talking to me in my dreams!" She laughed hysterically. "Even Samara's own mother tried the same thing; did you know that? She tried to drown Samara when she was a baby. But she was stopped."

        The expression on Anna's face showed acceptance as well as a deep, mournful sadness, a woman resigned to her fate, but never pleased with it. "I had to finish the job."

        Shuddering, Svetlana turned to the blond man. "What if you were told that we're in danger before something bad happen to us? Would you come help us then?"

        He nodded. "Shit yeah."

        "Okay. What's your name?"

        He tried to tell her, but a high-pitched whine, like the feedback whine on the tape, covered the sound of his speech.

        "What?" Svetlana cupped her hands around her ears. "I couldn't hear you."

        The man tried again, but that whine rang all through the clearing and the forest beyond.

        Svetlana tried to read his lips. "Dan Whe... White... Whittier? What is that noise?!"

        Her expression angry, Anna glared at the blond. "Tell her to stop meddling! You shouldn't even be here!"

        "What? Me?" Svetlana asked, confused.

        He addressed Anna directly, the gun held up against his shoulder. "You can tell your little daughter that she doesn't scare me. I may not be able to get there in time to save them," gesturing to Svetlana, "but Samara will be stopped, and I'll be there to see it happen. Me and my family, we'll take her out." He looked Anna up and down. "Why are you helping Samara? You _killed_ her."

        Anna's lips grew tight over her teeth. "There was something I failed to understand when I threw my little girl into the well." She finally looked down into the darkness of the stone structure. "Killing her wouldn't stop her." Anna paused to swallow back tears. "Killing her only made her stronger."

        Svetlana awakened then. She looked over at Quinn and Jodie. He was sitting at his desk, pondering the information on the computer screen, with Jodie looking over his shoulder. Svetlana put one foot on the floor, starting to get off the bed.

        The Japanese doll on the shelf moved without anyone touching it. "Sumimasen," she said, bowing.

        Quinn suddenly turned to Svetlana, like he was just noticing she was awake. "I'm sorry too, Svet," he said. "You should have gone home when you had the chance."

        Samara's hand emerged from under the bed and clamped onto Svetlana's ankle.

        This time, Svetlana awakened for real. She heard herself gasp, and saw Quinn and Jodie jump at the sound. They had been standing in the same position she saw in her dream before she startled them.

        "Svet? You okay?" Quinn asked.

        Svetlana's gaze first went to the doll on the shelf. When it didn't move, Svet sat up to rub the sleep from her eyes. "I had another dream."

        "About Samara?"

        "Yeah."

        Quinn nudged Jodie. "That answers your question. She can dream without me being there."

        Svetlana suddenly remembered how the dream had ended, and pulled up the leg of her pajama pants. Her ankle was marked just like Quinn's arm, with a burn in the shape of Samara's hand. Everyone's eyes widened in reaction.

        "Samara did that?"

        Svetlana nodded.

        Snapping his fingers, Quinn swiveled in his chair to face Jodie. "Okay Miss Subliminal Messages - you explained the dreams and the hallucinations." He pulled up his sleeve and pointed to his own mark. "Explain this."

  
 **More Author's Notes:** When I get spooked by something, I'm always afraid to hang my feet over the side of the bed for fear that something will reach out from under it and grab me. How scary it would be if that actually happened! Muahahahaha, sorry Svetlana.

  
it won't stop


	8. Day 8: Final Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodie discusses using the cursed tape as her final project with her Film professor. Poor Jolene thinks she's made it through a curse-free day until she experiences a hallucination of Samara, her father, and a lamb named Phil.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 8: Final Project  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 8 of 100  
 **Rating:** Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,321  
 **Summary:** Jodie discusses using the cursed tape as her final project with her Film professor. Poor Jolene thinks she's made it through a curse-free day until she experiences a hallucination of Samara, her father, and a lamb named Phil.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Meredevachon.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #8 Animal and Coclaim100 Prompt #8 Temper.  
 **Author's Notes:** The blond with the shotgun is Dean Winchester, a character from the show _Supernatural_.

  
        Rushing down the hallways of her college, already late for a meeting, Jodie nearly slammed into the doorjamb of Professor McNeal's office; instead, she caught herself and stood there holding onto it, panting. Her hand slapping down on the paneling made a loud noise, which gave the professor a start. "Oh!" He glanced at her. "Jodie! You're a little late."

        "I'm sorry, Professor McNeal." She immediately began rifling through the schoolbag slung over her shoulder and neck like a sling. "I'm here now."

        "That you are. Well, you're still within my weekend office hours, so I'll see you." He winked to show he was kidding as he turned to face the doorway. "Now, on the phone, you said something about photographic evidence of an urban legend?"

        Nodding enthusiastically, Jodie closed the door to his office, on which there was a plaque that read, _PROFESSOR LASSITER MCNEAL. FILM STUDIES. OCCULT HISTORY._

        She really liked the man. He was almost like a father figure and a college crush rolled into one, far more worldly than most people she knew. Best thing was, he treated her like she was smart. Professor McNeal made her feel she really belonged there, in such a prestigious college.

        Jodie went to the VCR/DVD combo machine attached to the television in his office, the TV being on a shelf up near the ceiling. She then took out the copy she had made of Quinn's tape, which he had begrudgingly given her, and launched into the story of how her roommate had gotten it, and what she thought it was. It was the infamous "cursed" videotape whispered about in every junior high and high school around, right after the story of the phantom hitchhiker or the mental patient with a hook for a hand. Jodie's eyes were wide and excited; her hands shook a little with the buzz that was running through her.

        Professor McNeal grinned at her enthusiasm. "Slow down now, Jodie. Sounds like you have a lot to tell me."

        Beginning with the night Quinn received the tape, she described how someone had broken into their mailbox and left it there.

        "I wonder if the infinity sign means something, or if that's just the way they sign things," Professor McNeal mused. "Your friend Quinn has some enemies, huh?"

        "Either that, or a friend who wanted to scare him."

        "Right. Whoever did it, they had to know what the tape could do; otherwise, why would they give it to him?"

        Jodie nodded, and giggled. "They probably thought it'd be really funny to sit back and watch Quinn squirm."

        Narrowing his eyes, Professor McNeal gave her a long look and asked, "Did you give him the videotape, Jodie?"

        She shook her head with a smirk. "Quinn thought the same thing. I wish I _had_ been the one. This would be a lot more fun if I had."

        Jodie continued by describing the dreams and hallucinations experienced by Quinn, Svetlana, and her mother. She went into as much detail as she could remember. "Everyone's marked with the handprints now, Professor McNeal. I just watched it last night, so it hasn't happened to me yet."

        "Did you have any dreams last night?" he asked.

        "Yeah, one." Her facial expression grew confused and a little troubled. "I was standing in the parking lot of a hospital, and the blond guy with the shotgun that Quinn and Svet dreamed about came up to me with this really sad look on his face."

        "Did he say anything to you?"

        "Yes. He touched my shoulder and said... oh, how did he say it... 'I'm sorry I couldn't save them for you. But you need to be strong. Your mother would want you to be strong.'" Jodie shuddered, and tried to smile, to shrug it off.

        "That's fairly eerie. Next time we meet, would you bring me some of the drawings Svetlana did of this stranger?" Professor McNeal requested.

        "Sure, Professor."

        "These dreams are quite threatening, from what you've been telling me. Some threats are fairly plain, like the man with the shotgun telling Svetlana he couldn't help her because she'd already be dead when he even found out she was in danger. Some are more subtle. Such as Quinn's family members crying and wearing black, like a funeral is taking place. Svetlana sees someone from home sobbing into his hands - did she tell you any more about that, by the way? Who this man is?"

        Jodie had to shrug. "No, she wouldn't talk about it. She just said it was strange for him to be here, in America. It _would_ be weird. Her family is all back home in Holland."

        Professor McNeal, nodding, leaned back in his chair before he went on. "Hm. Did Quinn explain why his sister was saying, 'Get the boy'?"

        Laughing lightly, Jodie replied, "He's got two sisters, the only boy in the family. So they used to torture him when they were kids by going, 'Get the boy!' and chasing him around the house." She laughed harder at the thought. "When they caught him, they'd hold him down and put make-up on him or something like that."

        Professor McNeal chuckled too. "I see. Well, whoever made the tape definitely wants the people who watch it to be afraid of what will happen once their seven days are up. But we know nothing happens because of the people on this message board you spoke of. They all watched the tape and they're still alive, right?"

        "Right."

        "But obviously, the tape does _something_. Do you have any theories on how this is accomplished, Jodie?" Professor McNeal prompted.

        Jodie excitedly launched into her theory about subliminal messages and the power of the mind. "...and the handprints can be explained by the power of the mind over the body. People produce the wounds of Christ on their own bodies through stigmata - many think that's done by the power of the mind. Why not this? People have these nightmares, Samara grabs them, and the hypnotic suggestions tell them they are actually touched by this girl, who has some sort of power to brand her victims. Next thing they know, a welt appears on their skin. That's how I explained it to Quinn, anyway. Do you think it's possible?"

        "Very possible, Jodie. Good work."

        Jodie beamed proudly over the smile of approval he gave her.

        "Some careful analysis of the videotape will yield the answer. I should probably watch it now. Why don't you put it in the machine?"

        With a little squeal, Jodie hopped in place before scrambling to the VCR and pushing the tape in. Professor McNeal chuckled, then sat back to watch. He mostly remained quiet while watching it, although he made the occasional comment, his hands folded across his chest.

        He reacted to the image of the hairbrush passing through Anna Morgan's hair. "Very nice."

        Professor McNeal commented again when the exchange with the mirrors played out. He liked that too. "Whoever made this knows a bit about movie-making. These are some lovely shots. Quite artistic."

        Anna came on the screen again, fixing her hair in the previously seen mirror. When she turned to look at the viewer, Professor McNeal made a "hm" sound. "She just broke the fourth wall."

        Being his student, Jodie knew exactly what he meant. "That's supposed to be Anna Morgan. She's looking at us, ooooh."

        "Like she sees us through the screen," he added in the same sarcastic, mocking tone of voice, and grinned back at Jodie. "They did some make-up effects to the actress. She looks older here. Sort of tired." Professor McNeal gestured to his face. "She looked happy and youthful before."

        "She looks just like Mrs. Morgan, too. I brought a few articles..."

        "We can look at those after the feature presentation." At this time, the scene of Anna Morgan's suicide played out on the screen. Professor McNeal liked this also. "It looks like a Buñuel film."

        "Or a Calvin Klein commercial," commented Jodie.

        He looked at her for a moment and then chuckled to himself.

        The final scene. The well in the quiet glade. After a few seconds, the tape went to static.

        11:46 AM.

        "Huh," the professor grunted.

        The phone in his office began to ring. "Excuse me a moment."

        As he picked up the receiver, Jodie stared at him and the phone with giddy excitement on her face. He received the call too!

        He listened, said, "What? Hello?" and then hung up.

        "What did they say?" Jodie asked, although she could guess.

        "It was a female voice. She said, 'Seven days.' Then there was a soft click." Professor McNeal gave it some thought, nibbling on his thumbnail. "Everyone who has watched this tape has gotten one of these calls."

        She just nodded. "Isn't it cool?"

        Rubbing his chin, Professor McNeal replied, "It's very odd. Very odd indeed. Everything else has fit in with your theory of subliminal messages... except this. This is... how did they know I had just watched the video?"

        "Quinn had this whacked out theory about a computer chip being in the tape that would sense when it had been played, and then would scan the room for cell phones and stuff so the person who made the tape would have all the information they needed," Jodie explained in a skeptical tone of voice.

        "But you didn't bring Quinn's tape. You brought a copy." Professor McNeal scooted his chair over to his video equipment and popped a videotape into the second VCR. "Do you have time to stay for a while? I'm going to run off a copy of the tape for my T.A., Akemi, so she can help us gather information on it."

        "We're going to trace the tape back to the person who made it?" Jodie asked.

        "We're going to try." He pushed the other chair near his desk over to Jodie, to offer her a seat. "It can be your final project."

        At the time that he spoke those words, Professor McNeal had no idea what powers of prophecy they might have when the next week was up for the both of them.

*****

        Jolene thought her luck might be changing when she made it through the workday without any hallucinations. She worked the occasional Saturday when her caseload got heavy, and she had gotten to five o'clock without seeing anything. With a sense of satisfaction, Jolene strode out of her office and almost walked right into a ladder.

        She gasped in surprise and backed up. "Who left this here?" Jolene snapped, looking around. The ladder led up to a breezeway on the second floor that linked several offices. This breezeway was open on both sides, with a set of railings to keep people from falling over the edge.

        A secretary passing by glanced her way. "Left what there?"

        "This - " Jolene realized before the words left her mouth that this ladder looked just like the one from the videotape. She visibly slumped and cussed under her breath. "Nothing," she finally replied to the secretary.

        As Jolene reluctantly raised her eyes to the top of the ladder, the environment around her changed. The office building dissolved, replaced by a barn fragrant with the smells of hay and live animals. At the top of this very tall ladder was a small room, built into the arch of the roof. The front part of the room was open to the barn, and Jolene could see that the light was on up there - what was this, a clubhouse? How cute! Maybe this hallucination wouldn't be so bad after all.

        Jolene figured she was supposed to climb the ladder. Might as well get it over with. Whoever was causing the hallucinations, probably Samara, seemed happier and would end them quicker if Jolene just gave her the reaction she wanted. So she began to climb.

        The secretary walked through the foyer area again and saw Dr. Searling climbing the stairs to the second floor. She thought nothing of it, except that the doctor had a strange look on her face, almost like she was in a trance.

        Jolene reached the top of the ladder. Here was a child's room. It was complete with a little bed dressed in feminine frills, toys, books, a television, wallpaper with horses on it, and the chair from the videotape. The chair that had followed Jolene around the night before. Samara laid on the bed, facing the wall, her hair obscuring most of her face. While Jolene watched, the chair floated up into the air by itself and turned upside down. She gasped, grasping the ladder harder to keep from falling backwards off of it. The chair began to spin in the air, like an invisible force was turning it around and around.

        Samara was doing it. Jolene wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew that Samara was causing that chair to float.

        Someone began to climb the ladder after her. Jolene quickly swung her foot over the floor of this little room and stepped onto it, getting off the ladder. How could someone allow a child to play up here? The front was wide open, and there was nothing there but a ladder to get up and down. There was way too much chance of Samara falling to let her be up here alone.

        Samara's father, Richard Morgan, came up the ladder. When he saw the spinning chair, he didn't react like it was something he had never seen before. Instead, he shifted around with discomfort and loudly cleared his throat. "Samara?"

        The chair went on spinning. "Yes?" she replied in a slow, depressed tone.

        "Could you stop that? It's very unnerving."

        She knew he was talking about the chair. It went on spinning. "You killed Phil."

        Richard let out a quiet sigh. He still did not step up onto the floor of Samara's room. "The lamb had lost its leg, Samara. He wasn't doing so well." He eyed the spinning chair carefully.

        Jolene reached over and waved her hand in front of Richard Morgan's face. No reaction. She was just an observer.

        It took longer than was normal for Samara to reply. She seemed lost in her own little world. "Phil was my pet. You said I could keep him."

        Oh, the three-legged lamb from the videotape. They were talking about that lamb. They had to be.

        "I know, sweetheart, but his feed was costing us too much money. We've lost so many horses in the past six months..." He punctuated this last sentence accusingly. "...that money is very tight around here. I won't feed an animal that can't pull its weight on the ranch."

        The chair started to spin faster. Richard watched it uneasily.

        "You shouldn't go back on a promise to me," Samara said with slight venom in her voice. "Phil was mine."

        "Samara, watch your temper," Richard commanded in a voice that tried to be fatherly and authoritative. But even Jolene could hear the fear in the undertone.

        "I've never had anything of my own," the child declared. "Except my lamb. The horses are yours. The figurines are Mommy's. Phil was mine."

        "Samara - "

        "You didn't even talk to me before you did it."

        Suddenly, the chair spun out of control, making an arc through the air, and almost struck Richard Morgan in the head. His fingers tightened on the top of the ladder as he squeezed his eyes shut and did what could only be called hoping for the best. Jolene observed how lucky he was that the ladder was nailed to the floor of the room, because his flinching shook the ladder mightily; she could hear the nails squealing in the wood. He tried not to make any noise - that would show weakness - but he couldn't help but groan a little. The chair returned to the original position in which it had been when it started its flight.

        "I don't care if she is some kind of psychic badass. Spank the little brat," Jolene said.

        But Richard couldn't hear her. "Samara, stop it."

        "I'm not forgiving you for slaughtering my lamb." The little girl seemed to be trying to end the conversation.

        He took the hint. "Maybe you'll feel like talking in the morning. You can go to bed without any dinner."

        "I wouldn't want any anyway."

        As Richard started to climb back down the ladder, Samara suddenly asked, "Can I sleep in the house tonight?" Her tone of voice had completely changed. It was pleading and small.

        "No," was Richard's curt response as he just kept going.

        Jolene reeled at this last exchange. He made Samara _sleep_ out here? As bratty as she had acted with the chair, there wasn't any heat out here, and even Jolene could feel the chill. There were certain things you just didn't do to a child. Jolene found herself passing back and forth between dislike for Samara and sympathy for her. "At least bring her a space heater," she mumbled.

        Once Richard was gone, the chair abruptly stopped spinning. It hung there for several moments before simply clattering loudly to the floor.

        Richard Morgan was right. That _was_ unsettling.

        "Doctor Searling!"

        Jolene looked down. The secretary she'd spoken to before was standing at the bottom of the ladder. "Dr. Searling! What are you doing up there?!"

        The environment around her abruptly switched back to that of the office building. Jolene found herself standing in the breezeway on the second floor, but not on the floor.

        She was standing up on the railing.

        At some point, Jolene had climbed up and was maintaining a very careful balance as she observed this latest hallucination. The realization of where she was upset that balance. "Oh, fuck!" Her arms pinwheeling, Jolene tried to stay up on the rail, but she fell backward and landed on the floor of the breezeway hard, hitting her head on the opposite railing on the way down. "OW!"

        "Dr. Searling!" The secretary ran up the stairs and knelt beside Jolene. "Are you alright? What were you doing up there?"

        Jolene had no idea how to answer that question. She rubbed her head and grumbled to herself, "Goddamn little brat. I wish she'd show her face so I could punch it."

  
it won't stop


	9. Day 9: Meandering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodie and the professor discuss the tape with Japanese Teacher's Assistant, Akemi. Quinn writes an e-mail to his twin. Jolene has an epiphany about the effects of the tape after a strange encounter with a fly.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 9: Meandering  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 9 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,083  
 **Summary:** Jodie and the professor discuss the tape with Japanese Teacher's Assistant, Akemi. Quinn writes an e-mail to his twin. Jolene has an epiphany about the effects of the tape after a strange encounter with a fly.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Meredevachon.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #9 Branded and Coclaim100 Prompt #9 Soothing.  
 **Author's Notes:** Cross-over with the TV show, "Supernatural."

  
        Akemi stood in the doorway with her hands folded together behind her. A curtain of shiny black hair fell halfway down her back. She spoke quietly and politely. "Did you need something, McNeal-sensei?"

        Professor McNeal looked up at the Teacher's Assistant, who was another exchange student at the college, this one from Japan. "Yes, Akemi." He held up his copy of the videotape. "Would you take some stills from this tape? Frame by frame, and put them on a disc? It's part of Miss Searling's final project."

        Jodie nodded and said hello. She knew Akemi from the professor's classes.

        Taking the tape, Akemi replied, "Of course. May I ask what's on it?"

        He grew a little sheepish. "Ah, yes... I need to warn you that some of the images are unpleasant. I wouldn't pay extremely close attention."

        "Oh?"

        "Miss Searling brought it to me." Professor McNeal indicated Jodie with a flourish of his hand. "Have you ever heard the urban legend of the videotape that holds a curse? That seven days after you watch it, you die?"

        Akemi, turning the tape over in her hands, nodded. "Yes, I've heard of it. Sadako's tape."

        Jodie and Professor McNeal both appeared confused. "Sadako? You mean Samara," said Jodie.

        But Akemi shook her head. "No, I mean Sadako. Kids used to talk about that legend all the time in school." She laughed. "It was a big thing at parties. 'I've got the cursed tape! Who isn't afraid to watch it?' That sort of thing. I was dared to watch it, but I was too scared." The girl laughed again, and looked down at the tape. "Now that I'm older, I realize it's just a story."

        Reeling a bit, Professor McNeal tried to get it all straight. "You're telling me there is a legend like this in Japan, too?"

        Akemi looked up at him and blinked, not fully understanding. "Yes." She glanced from Jodie back to the Professor. "Isn't this tape about Sadako?"

        "No. It's about a little girl named Samara. From Washington state," explained Jodie. "This video has the same legend attached to it. But that's not so strange, is it?" she asked Professor McNeal. "Urban legends travel around."

        "But not to _other countries_ ," he replied. "Very few legends translate to other cultures so thoroughly. The phantom hitchhiker legend has various incarnations across the globe, anywhere there are cars, but they're all very different. If this legend exists in Japan too, it seems to exist in almost the exact same form. A videotape that holds a curse... seven days... the watcher dying... all specific details, all exist in both legends. That's exceedingly rare, especially when you compare Asian urban legends to American." Professor McNeal turned to Akemi for confirmation. "Akemi, what happened to this Sadako? Does the legend say?"

        She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, McNeal-sensei. I don't know much about the story behind the videotape. Just that she was named Sadako and she died at the bottom of a well many years ago. You'll excuse me." Akemi bowed and turned to go.

        The professor and Jodie exchanged an amazed look. Then he called the T.A. back. "Akemi, wait."

        She appeared in the doorway again with an expectant expression on her face.

        "Do you know if the legend had any truth behind it? Did Sadako really exist?"

        "And did she own any horses who died?" Jodie added.

        Akemi shrugged again. "I'm not sure if Sadako really existed. But I do know the legend never contained anything about horses." She smiled politely.

        Professor McNeal asked, "What was her last name?"

        "I'm not sure, but I can try to find out. I want to call home anyway." Akemi flashed another grin, a more genuine one, at the thought of her family.

        Tapping a pen on the desk, the professor decided that this whole thing was just weird enough to warrant caution. "Thank you, Akemi. Before you watch that tape, I must warn you that some people who have seen it have had nightmares. They've awakened with a brand on their skin, that of a human hand, like someone has claimed them as property. There - "

        "That's part of the Japanese legend, too. Sadako grabs you, and you awaken with her handprint on that part of your body." Akemi held up one of her hands. "Like a burn."

        Jodie and Professor McNeal again exchanged disbelieving glances.

        The exchange student continued. "People said she had supernatural powers. I don't think her hands could actually generate heat. It was some sort of projection of her mind. She just willed it to happen, and... you both look quite pale." Akemi didn't know the whole story; she didn't fully understand their reaction. "Does this other girl have that power too?"

        The professor nodded.

        "Well, it sounds like someone has stolen our Sadako and brought her over to America!" Akemi grinned. "Probably someone Japanese. Maybe they missed home, and brought a little piece over in the form of a wild story. It wouldn't be so hard to get it started by word of mouth, would it?"

        Sighing, Professor McNeal said, "I guess not." But if Sadako really existed... "Anyway, the video may contain subliminal messages. I just wanted to make sure you knew. If you'd rather not watch the tape, I'll understand."

        "And miss my chance to see the American Sadako? I don't think so." Smiling, Akemi bowed to them. "I'll be alright, Sensei. I'll get to work now. If you need me, I'll be in the AV room." With that, she left them.

        They looked at each once more. Jodie laughed nervously. "This is very weird. We know that Samara really existed..." She fanned out the articles that had been printed from the Internet. "...What if this Japanese girl really lived once too? What do we make of that?"

        Shifting uneasily, Professor McNeal rubbed his chin. "Two girls die in the same manner on different sides of the globe. Both are rumored to have supernatural powers, and both have a videotape associated with them. A cursed videotape." He looked over at some of the framed photographs sitting on the left side of his desk, under the cork bulletin board and the cabinet that needed organizing. They were friends from his other line of work. Paranormal investigators. Some who called themselves exorcists or even demon hunters. He wondered for the first time if he should call one of them and bounce a few ideas off him. This was turning out to be a very abnormal urban legend. Most urban legends didn't have this much truth to them, and an Asian twin to boot. "If Sadako really existed, we have got ourselves one strange story here."

        "What do we do now?"

        Professor McNeal, grinning at her, tossed the pen on the desk blotter. "We wait for Akemi to finish the task I gave her. If there are any visual subliminal messages on the tape, they'll show up in the stills. Then we slow the soundtrack down and listen to it for implanted messages, too. We're even going to listen to it backwards."

        That sounded like a lot of work, but Jodie was excited to do it. She joked with the professor, "You're going to get Akemi to prepare all that? Must be nice to have Japan just _give_ you your own slave."

        Professor McNeal chuckled and gave her arm a playful shove.

        Jodie did not look at the professor's photographs. If she had, she would have recognized someone. Third picture from the left, in the ornate silver frame. John, Sam, and Dean Winchester, in a photo taken about four years before. Demon hunters.

        Dean Winchester was the blond that Svetlana kept drawing.

***

        After doing a little shopping with Svetlana, Quinn came home alone. She had to spend _some_ time at her dorm room. Svetlana was away so much, her roommate often joked that she sometimes wondered if Svetlana had died.

        He sat down at his desk to transfer the good pictures he'd been able to take with his digital camera from the camera to the computer. Pictures taken shortly before it had gone all wonky. What a shame; the camera had been working so well up until then. To test it one more time, Quinn snapped off a photo of the collection of goofy little action figures and tiny stuffed animals lined up under his computer monitor.

        That one came out fine.

        Perplexed, Quinn held the camera out and took a picture of his own face. This one was warped, like the others.

         _"What the hell?"_ he thought. Quinn's inner voice of suspicion and dread added, _"It's just like the burn on your arm. You're marked."_

        Marked for what?

        With a sigh, he gave up trying to figure it out for now and uploaded only the good images. Then he rattled off an e-mail to his sister Danica.

 _"Dearest and Most Honorable Sister Danica,_

 _Greetings! Please to read message from most handsome and desireable brother-type, Quinn. Okay, then just read this e-mail from your goof of a sibling? Great!_

 _How are things going over there? Everyone's relatively fine here, though you did miss the weekend from hell. I'll tell you about that when I see you. Long story. It's always a long story. Finer points: Mom and Dad both had pretty bad accidents in the span of three days. Dad totalled the Dorkmobile. Can you believe it's finally gone? Dorkmobile, NOOOOOOOO! I mean, HELL YEAH! It's gone!!!!1 That was about two weeks ago. Dad's already got this new monstrosity to replace it. Ack. Mom and Dad are fine otherwise. Janet's a big goober, but you knew that._

 _How is London? Still British? Dude, what is wrong with our school's over here, you trendy little "I only like foreign things" snobbette? Stop exchanging yourself and get back here! We all miss you LIKE WOAH!!! Even Gunnar. Still remember Gunnar? My hunky friend you've wanted to snork for, oh, about a gazillion years? Yeah, you come home next year, you could have him! He told me. <\--- lies, all lies!_

 _I've atached a picture we took with my new digital camera, which promptly started phucking up right after. :P Ain't modern technology GRAND???? It's of me, Jodie, and Svet. Yes, I'm still dating Svetlana. Don't start. Incase you've been away so long you've forgotten who everybody is, Jodie's in the blue shirt, Svet's the gorgeous one in the middle, and I'm on the right. Who is that handsome devil? *wiggles eyebrows*_

 _We can't wait to see you on Tuesday when you come home for Spring Break. I've taped all your shows for you, so you'll have a giant box of video's to take back to London. That was a good idea of Moms, sending the region 1 VCR, huh? So you wouldn't go crazy(ier)?_

 _Hope you're ready for the big party. (Muhahahahahaha.) We all miss you. Luv you like a sister! (haha)_

 _Your favorite and, coincidentally, only brother,_

 _Quinn"_

        He sent that, along with the attached picture of himself and the girls. Less than twenty minutes later, Quinn received an answer. Danica seemed in very good spirits, although she mischievously corrected all his spelling and punctuation mistakes (the current state of the Internet on those things drove her insane - everyone knew it) and teased him about the time _he_ almost totaled the Dorkmobile. She went on about how much she loved England, chastising him in a sisterly manner about trying to 'guilt trip' her, but also promised to consider staying home next year.

         _For one semester._

        Quinn grinned at that. As much as he missed his twin, her globe-hopping ways had become a staple of her adult personality.

         _Thanks for sending the picture! I miss the Jodester a lot. Still dating Svet, huh? My lips are sealed. But when you say 'she's the one in the middle,' you ain't kiddin', bro. *evil grin*_

        Quinn scoffed and thumped the monitor in reaction. "Evil," he mused to himself with a lopsided grin, shaking his head.

        The last part made him tear up and laugh with fondness for his faraway twin.

         _I miss you too, Quinny. You're the other side of me. Without you, I'm just half a person._

         _The better half. *evil grin part deux*_

        The contact with Danica put him at ease. It was about the only thing that could have soothed him into the nap he took right after, a short but thankfully dreamless sleep.

*****

        Jolene, her eyes closed, held the icepack on her head while listening to the evening news. This whole mess with her walking in her sleep (only she hadn't been asleep) at the office had her on edge, in the worst mood. Jolene had never wanted to hurt a child in her life, but if she could get a hold of that little brat, Samara, she'd take the switch to her, as Jolene's grandmother used to say.

        She wondered exactly what it was that the kid could do. Throwing chairs around with her mind... what did they call that? Telekinesis. Although, Jodie had said at some point that there was a new name for it now. Some fact she got from her hunky Film professor, with his "second job" studying the occult. Maybe they should talk to the guy about what they were dealing with on Samara's Seven Days o' Terror and Fun ride. Or just wait it out.

        Same difference.

        Jolene pulled up her sleeve and looked at her wrist again. And what power was this, little Carrie clone? She could move things with her mind, but Carrie couldn't scar people by touching them. Jolene suddenly wondered if the mark of Samara's hand would fade, or if she was stuck with this damn handprint forever. God, she hoped not. What did they call this? What did they call it when someone could brand their handprint into your skin? At least it would be easier to believe if Samara was _alive_ , and had actually touched her. But Samara was a _ghost_.

        "This is so fucked up," Jolene muttered to herself.

        She noticed something strange happening on the TV before her. A commercial mimicked a scene from that damned videotape fairly closely. There was a cliff with a thin tree on its edge, bowing in the wind. It didn't look exactly the same; the image on the TV now was in color. But... a fly buzzed through the air and landed on the screen. It walked around on the curved glass, in the right corner, just like another fly had done in the videotape. Meandering in a circle, counterclockwise.

        "Just like your tape, you little devilspawn. Is that the same fly?" Jolene sat up. The icepack was still in her hand. "What do you _want_ from me?" She threw the icepack at the screen.

        It hit the fly dead-on, then flopped to the floor.

        But the fly was still there.

        Jolene's mouth gaped like a dead fish. She'd hit it. She _knew_ she had. That little fucker should be a very flat fly by now. But it wasn't; it still crawled around on the screen like some super insect, shrugging off a pack full of partially melted ice like it was just a strong wind.

        Angry, Jolene jumped up and crossed the space between her couch and the television. She swatted at the fly on the screen. The action made a hollow _ping_ sound when her hand hit the glass. She expected to see a smear of fly blood on the screen and her fingers now, but that is not what she saw.

        Instead, Jolene saw the fly still crawling about on the screen.

         _Inside_ the screen. Just like the fly from the videotape.

        She'd seen the insect sail through the air and land on the screen with her own eyes. Now, Jolene placed her finger on top of the fly and rubbed at it. All she felt was glass.

        Jolene gasped and pulled her hand back like she'd touched a hot stove. A second later, the fly emerged from the screen and flew away.

        She watched it until she couldn't see it anymore. The scene on the television changed to a commercial for Taco Bell. Shaken, Jolene wondered if she had just seen what she thought she saw.

        "This is some fucked up shit," she nearly repeated. Jolene was struck by an epiphany. Quinn and Svetlana, they were having dreams. Jolene, she was experiencing hallucinations. Different people reacted to this thing in different ways. She wasn't sure which she preferred. Sure, she could get a good night's sleep, but as she rubbed the goose egg on her head that she'd gotten when she fell against the railing, Jolene wished she could just have the dreams instead.

        "That's okay, Samara." She looked around the room. "I can last through the whole week. You can take what I throw at you." Jolene picked up the icepack. "I can take what you throw at me."

  
it won't stop


	10. Day 10: TelePhone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Svetlana dream of Samara's real mother. Dean Winchester comes to them to warn them what will happen if they don't join the ring. But what is the ring? Quinn's friend Gunnar takes him out for a night of distraction, but Samara crashes the party.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 10: TelePhone  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 10 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 4,293  
 **Summary:** Quinn and Svetlana dream of Samara's real mother. Dean Winchester comes to them to warn them what will happen if they don't join the ring. But what is the ring? Quinn's friend Gunnar takes him out for a night of distraction, but Samara crashes the party.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Meredevachon.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #10 Tortured and Coclaim100 Prompt #10 Awakening.  
 **Author's Notes:** The conversation between Lisa and Quinn is based on a scene originally written in 2003 in a played-by-email roleplaying game. That scene was written using completely different characters. One character was played by me, and the other by my roleplay partner, K-kitty, who has granted her permission for what she brought to the story to be used. (She wrote for the woman in the scene.) I rewrote most of this, although I used some of my own dialogue for Quinn.  
Dean Winchester is a character from the TV show "Supernatural."

  
Quinn slept a great deal that Saturday. So much, that Jodie worried about him. He was probably just catching up on all the sleep he'd lost the last two nights, she told herself. Or, maybe he was getting sick.

Svetlana did not come back for a couple of days. At least, not physically.

That night, Quinn dreamed of Evelyn.

He saw flashes, snatches of images. A brick building with an iron gate. Women walking down the sidewalk, wearing prim outfits and those black and white nun's hats. A sign that said St. Mary Magdalen Women's Shelter. The images he was being shown settled on a young woman, younger than Quinn, bouncing a baby in her arms. She had long, dark hair and seemed happy about the child. The rosary she held confirmed for Quinn that she was as Catholic as the shelter in which she stayed. Or maybe she'd just been raised as one.

 _Evelyn_. Her name was Evelyn.

 _And I'm dreaming about you because...?_

Evelyn, looking down at the baby, slowly took on an expression of confusion, that changed to distress, and then to horror. She put the child back into her bassinette and backed away. Evelyn covered her ears, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Evelyn's remembering a dream the baby sent her," informed a familiar voice to one side of Quinn. He turned to where the blond with the shotgun stood next to him on the brick plaza in front of one of the garden areas of St. Mary Magdalen's. The blond rested the gun against his shoulder. "Just like she's sending these dreams to you."

Quinn leaned out and looked over to the blond's right side. Just as he expected, Svetlana leaned around him too and gazed back at Quinn. "I should have known you'd be here. Even when we're not sleeping in the same bed, we're still dreaming the same thing," he said.

The blond looked at Quinn, then at Svetlana, and shook his head with a small laugh. The action had _tsk, tsk, tsk_ written all over it. "Dude, I'm a bit slutty. But what you two are doing? Even I try to avoid it."

Quinn rolled his eyes and Svetlana ducked her head with embarrassment. Changing the subject, Quinn said, "Who are you? Why do you keep appearing in these dreams? Are you some kind of symbol?"

"Nah, I'm no symbol." He watched as Evelyn began to cry, and eventually started to scream in anguish as the nuns put their arms around her and led her away. "I'm sorry I can't just tell you my name. I might be able to save you two if you knew how to contact me. But I have no control over these nightmares. These are Samara's game. I'm not even supposed to be here." The blond looked at Quinn. "I'm here because Mysteria put me here. She's trying to help."

Quinn didn't know who "Mysteria" was, or the blond guy, but they had to be good guys if they were in opposition to Samara. "Help, how?"

He shrugged. "Just hoping it will make a difference somewhere."

Evelyn interrupted their conversation by wailing out, "Samara told me to kill her! I couldn't believe it either, but I dreamed of it every night. I saw Samara when she's older. She walked to the side of her own crib, her baby self's crib, and told me to drown her." Evelyn pointed to the fountain in the garden. "That's why I tried to kill her. That's all. She said it would save her."

Looking at the child in the bassinette, Svetlana surmised, "So that's Samara in the cradle? Then... you must be..."

Anna Morgan, looking fairly happy and vibrant, crossed the plaza to the side of the bassinette and gazed down at the baby. She cooed with love, rubbing the child's cheeks.

Evelyn shook her head. "You have to let me finish it." The nuns grasped her arms firmly and continued to pull her away. "Samara told me it was the only way to save her!" The girl seemed to address Anna directly. "Don't let them stop you! You have to finish it!"

With a serene expression, Anna looked up at Evelyn and replied, "I won't let them stop me. I'll finish it." She gave both Quinn and Svet a short glance. "It won't stop."

They both shuddered, knowing what Anna meant when she said she would "finish it." She was the one who finally did Samara in.

The other side of Anna, the older, haggard ghost who floated near the well in most of their dreams, entered the scene, wearing the long dress, but walking the ground this time. She looked upon her younger, happier self with sad eyes. "How young and idealistic I was. I thought adopting a baby would solve all the problems we'd been having with conceiving, that we could finally be a complete family. People even said that Samara looked like me." With a bitter, tight smile, Anna choked back tears. "I don't think anyone knew they were handing me a monster, do you?"

Quinn shrugged at her and shook his head. He had no idea what to say.

Anna crossed to the other side of the bassinette to also gaze down at baby Samara. Her contented other half seemed unaware of her. "Samara said she loved me. She always wanted to spend time with me. Her 'Mommy.' So why couldn't she let me be happy?" Anna looked up at the sky and started to weep. "Why did she attack me with her powers? All I wanted was to be a champion horse breeder and Samara's mommy. Everything I loved, she took away from me. I just want to understand _why_." Anna's body shook with sobs, and she covered her mouth to forestall the scream that threatened to come out.

"I get it." Svetlana pointed to the building into which Evelyn had been taken. "She's Samara's real mother."

"No shit, Sherlock," the blond joked.

"What does all this mean?" Frustrated, Quinn turned to the blond man for answers. But he didn't look much older than Quinn himself. "Why are we being shown this? These people are dead. There's nothing we can do to help. Anna Morgan finished off Samara, and she came back stronger than ever, as a vengeful ghost. Now both her mothers are tortured over what they did to her and she did to them. Great, wonderful, I get it. Now how do we make it end?!"

The blond took a look around, as if checking to see who might be listening, then grasped Quinn and Svetlana each by one arm and led them away from St. Mary Magdalen's. They went through a door and were back in Quinn and Jodie's apartment. Only in dreams could location be shifted so swiftly.

Dean addressed them in a commanding voice and spoke as quickly as he could. "I don't have long, so pay attention. Samara already knows I'm here. She'll try to wake you up before I can inform you of anything useful. You gotta tell Jodie and Danica that they can trust me. I'm a friend, and my dad's a friend too. We're the good guys, okay? Tell them."

Quinn nodded dutifully. "Okay."

"Second thing." Dean took the gun out from under his arm. "It's a catch-22. But I can't just sit back and let it happen." The videotape that had been left for Quinn sat on his bed. Shoving at it with the tip of the shotgun, Dean said, "You gotta keep it going."

This was not the time for cryptic dream talk. Quinn could feel that Samara was coming. Time did nothing but tick away. "What?"

"The ring. Join it. It has to keep going."

"I don't get it either," Svetlana said, confused.

Water began to run under the closed door of Quinn's bedroom, staining the carpet, soaking through, moving toward Dean's feet. Water colored black with dirt.

His voice urgent, angry, Dean said, "There's something you have to do! If you don't do it, you'll _die_!"

Quinn came awake with a gasp. It was still dark outside. The phone soon rang anyway.

He answered it. "Svet? I knew it was you."

They discussed the dream in detail. "I got the distinct impression that his name start with a D," she said, "and he knows stuff. The kind of stuff we really need to know to survive."

"We already knew that his name started with a D. What we need to figure out is... God... I know it's just a dream, but this guy is right. I have a very strong feeling that there _is_ something we're supposed to do. We've got to figure out what it is before our seven days are up."

Quinn looked at the clock. 3:44AM. Sleep would not visit him again, so he got out of bed to have a smoke and give it some thought. Certain images wouldn't leave his head. Spirals. Circles. Black rings.

The ring.

 _It has to keep going._

For the rest of the night, Quinn did not sleep - he got out Svetlana's drawing pad and a pencil. And he drew.

*****

Jodie awakened in the morning to find the apartment relatively silent. She knocked on Quinn's door to see if he was awake, and peeked into the room. What she saw confused her so much she couldn't help but stand with the door open and just stare for a while.

Quinn sat near the head of his bed, indian style, with the drawing pad on his lap. Oblivious of Jodie, he was drawing a view of Samara's well as if one was looking down into it. The drawing was just a dark circle with vague outlines of brick. Quinn scribbled furiously to fill it in, as black as he could make it. His forearms were covered with smudges of grey pencil lead.

 _scribba scribba scribba scribba_

Jodie gaped at the pile of drawings that covered the rest of the bed. He had drawn the well over and over. Other drawings featured the horses from the videotape, Anna Morgan, Anna and Samara in the mirror, a girl holding a baby, and many things that Jodie wasn't even sure she could make out, because Quinn had scribbled words all over them. Sometimes, the same words repeatedly.

 _ring ring ring Ring ring the ring a ring the ring What does it mean? ring ring ring ring ring ring ring_

 _there is Something you must do to save yourself_

 _join the ring it has to keep going Everyone will suffer it won't stop_

 _it's like a game of TelePhone_

Quinn continued to color in the blackness of the well like he was possessed. Crossing the room, Jodie worriedly leaned down and put her hand over his in an attempt to still his frantic scribbling. "Quinn? What are you doing?"

His hand slowed down and the pencil sputtered across the page, then he looked up at her. "Jodie? Hey, Jodes." Quinn blinked, like a man coming out of a dream. "Did you have any dreams last night?"

"Nothing of note." Jodie again surveyed all the drawings he'd done. The drawing pad was almost spent. "What are you up to?"

Looking down, Quinn started once more to color. "I'm trying to figure out the dreams Svet and I have been having. There's something important we have to do."

Jodie watched him for several seconds before asking, "How is this going to help you figure things out?"

"I'm not sure. I just feel like drawing," was Quinn's brief response, before all of his attention was once again captured by the work before him.

Jodie opened her mouth to say something else, but the phone rang. She sprinted into the living room to answer it. Svetlana's dorm mate was on the other end.

"Hey, Jodie, tell me something, and please be honest," Darcy said in a strained, pleading tone.

"Sure, Darce; what's up?"

"Are Quinn and Svet doing drugs over there or something?"

Jodie thought she knew where this was going. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because Svet's acting _really_ weird." Darcy looked over at her roommate and felt like panicking all over again. Svetlana was on her bed all hunched over another drawing pad she owned, sketching the blond man with the shotgun. Fanned out on the bed were nearly fifty drawings of this man in every pose one could imagine. Many of them had words scribbled around and on top of them. "It's like she's in some sort of trance."

Jodie had Darcy describe what sort of things Svetlana had been drawing. It wasn't a great surprise to her that Svet chose to draw the man; she had seemed fixated on him from the very beginning. "What else is she sketching?"

"People with their faces scribbled out."

Like the girl in the videotape, with her hair covering her face. Or maybe like the photos of people who had watched the tape, their faces warped. "Have you asked her what she's doing?"

Darcy tried to keep her voice down. "Yeah. She said she's trying to figure out who this guy is. Jodie, who the hell is Svet drawing?"

"I'm not sure. It's a really long story, Darcy, one I'm not sure you want to get involved in. Just tell me, what kind of things is Svetlana writing on the pages?"

Carefully, Darcy picked up a few pieces of paper, trying not to disturb the oblivious Svetlana, and leafed through them. "I'm warning you, it doesn't make any sense. _'Savior he is savior he will save us, He will get here in time. His name start with a D. D D D D D D Deeeeeeee. N.'_ I swear, there's just a big N there by itself. What the hell does that mean? _'Good guy trying to help. Mysteria put him there. Mysteria mysteria mysteria. He will get here in time. Five days left.'_ Then she wrote fives all over the rest of the page.

"This next one just says _'the ring the ring the ring the ring'_ all over it."

Jodie, taking a deep breath, tried to think of what to say. "Darce, they've both been acting strange, okay? I don't think they've been sleeping enough. Maybe taking pep pills to stay awake for cram sessions. Mid-terms are coming up. Try to get Svet to take a nap, alright? Tell her if she sleeps, she can dream, and dreaming will help her figure it all out."

Darcy shrugged. "Okay. Hold on." Putting the phone down, she did as Jodie instructed, and it seemed to work. Darcy came back to the phone. "Okay, Svet's going to sleep. What the heck should I do when she wakes up?"

"If she's still being weird, just send her over here, okay? Like I said, it's a long, complicated story," Jodie sighed.

"In other words, they're into something fucked up," Darcy added, summing it up.

She had to laugh. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Fucking college and its tendency to make you experiment. I'm not in any _danger_ here, am I? Svet's not going to go nutso cuckoo on me?" asked Darcy. She watched Svetlana drift off to sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Just call me if anything else happens."

Jodie tried to do the same for Quinn. "Quinn, don't you think you should sleep now? You look really tired."

Without looking up at her, he just shook his head. "I gotta figure it out. Only five days left. What is the ring?"

Jodie gently stilled his hands again and started to take the paper from him. Slowly. "You'll probably have better luck figuring it out through the dreams. Why don't you get some sleep, and see what Samara shows you next?"

After a pause, Quinn nodded, hardly noticing that Jodie took the pad of paper away. She started clearing the other drawings off the bed so he could lie down. "Yeah. Yeah, the dreams tell us a lot. We learn more every time. Maybe the D guy will come again, and tell us what we're supposed to do."

Jodie wasn't sure who "the D guy" was; could he mean the blond with the shotgun? They did think his name was Dan or something... she nodded in agreement. "Maybe he will. Sleep, Quinn."

After he'd drifted into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning in his sleep, Jodie called one of Quinn's closest friends, Gunnar Taylor. It wasn't a surprise that she caught him in the middle of lifting weights, as it was something he did often. "Do you want me to call you back?"

"No, babe, it's okay," Gunnar replied. Every few words, he let out a hard breath. "I'm doing arm curls. Just working on one at a time right now; I got a hand free."

"Alright. Um, Gunns, can you do me a favor later? Can you come over here and take Quinn out somewhere? He really needs to get out of the house," explained Jodie. "Take him to a strip club or a basketball game or something. Some place he'll be really distracted. Preoccupied. I want all of his attention on whatever you take him to do."

"Sure, no problem. What's going on over there?" Gunnar asked a bit warily. "What do you want him distracted from?"

Ah, the hard questions she'd been expecting. Jodie decided the best thing to do was lie. She wasn't even sure how to explain the truth to people at this point. Jodie told him the same fib she'd told Darcy - about the speed pills and lack of sleep and how strange Quinn and Svetlana had been acting. "He needs something to get his mind off school."

Gunnar bought it. "Sounds like it. Tell him I'll be there around... oh..." He let out another of those heavy breaths.

"Gunnar, stop that! You sound like..." Her face flushed with embarrassment. "It's just distracting."

He chuckled deeply in response. "You know it, baby," Gunnar teased.

Jodie could have died. Why did all of Quinn's friends have to be so good looking?

Letting her off the hook, he finished his sentence. "8 o'clock sound good?"

*****

When she came in at two to start her shift, Lisa Barrister had never expected it to come to this.

She expected men to stare. She knew there'd be snickering and whistling and male camaraderie. She could even overlook the occasional smack on the ass if it had a big tip behind it. That was just life as a waitress at Hooters.

But Lisa could never have foreseen one of her customers doing what Quinn Kirkland did that night, less than a week before she saw his picture in the newspaper.

He and his friend were both pretty hot. Lisa turned on the giggle machine, tossing her long dark brown hair around and smiling a lot as she brought them beer and chicken wings. The tight orange short-shorts and snug white t-shirt hugging her breasts spoke for themselves. Lisa wouldn't mind going out with either of them, especially if they tipped well.

The two men sat at a high round table on stools. All the skimpily dressed waitresses were doing the job Jodie had wanted them to do - Quinn was definitely distracted. "Our waitress is making eyes at you," Gunnar commented with a smirk.

Quinn grinned back. "I was about to say that it's you she's interested in."

"Hey man, maybe she wants us both. We haven't done that in a while."

Quinn had a hearty laugh over that. "I don't think you should ask her; you got slapped last time you suggested a double team."

Gunnar chuckled darkly. "It'd almost be worth it."

As Quinn's friend, Gunnar hoped that acting like an absolute pig with him would loosen him up, because the bags under Quinn's eyes were quite worrisome. He understood now why Jodie was freaking out. "Jodie said you and Svet were up to something. That you hadn't been sleeping. You okay, buddy?"

Scrubbing at the back of his neck, Quinn didn't know how to answer that. _Oh, it's really quite simple. We watched this videotape left in my mailbox and it gave us nightmares. Some little girl was murdered by her mother. Now her ghost comes after you if you watch her tape. We're obsessed with it, really. In fact, we're starting to fear for our lives. It's all very real, you know._

Sure. That's exactly what he should say. In another universe.

"I'm fine. Just stressed from studying." Quinn put on a smile he didn't feel. "Thanks for taking me out, Gunns. This is exactly what I needed."

Lisa, a little extra bounce in her step, brought them two fresh beers. "There you go."

Quinn immediately tore into his, taking a long swig off the bottle.

Lisa asked, "Is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen?"

Gunnar smirked at her, looking her up and down. "Yeah, you can show me where the gentlemen are, 'cause I don't see 'em."

Quinn started to laugh with a throat full of beer. He immediately sputtered and coughed, like the liquid had gone down the wrong pipe.

Lisa, eyes widening, handed him a napkin and went to pat him on the back. "You okay?"

That's when the wave of nausea hit him. Quinn tried not to slam the beer down, but suddenly, there was something obstructing his throat. He coughed, trying to clear it, and took the napkin. But he couldn't speak, to tell her it was okay. The choking sensation quickly became unbearable. Quinn began to make full-on choking sounds.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Lisa asked, slapping him on the back now.

"Quinn?" What was he choking on? He had nothing in his mouth but beer.

Although it felt much longer, it was just seconds after the choking started that a loop of silver chain emerged from his mouth. Quinn looked down at it, taking hold of the chain, and started to pull it out with wide eyes. No one could have looked more startled than him if they had tried, though Lisa and Gunnar came close. He continued to make the unpleasant choking noises as he yanked out more of the offending object. Even though his eyes were watering, Quinn could still see that he was removing a string of small wine-colored beads from his throat.

"Jesus Christ!" Lisa cried in horror. She looked to Gunnar for explanation. "What did he swallow?!"

Gunnar appeared just as mystified and shocked as she was. "Quinn, don't pull too hard. Just... slow..." He wanted to scream _"What the fuck!"_ himself.

It took less than ten seconds for Quinn to get it all out. The end of the chain finally emerged from his mouth - it was a miniature silver crucifix.

A rosary. He'd just coughed up a rosary.

Quinn threw it down on the table with a horrified, disgusted look, gasping for breath. He jumped up and stared at the odd item that had just emerged from his person, absently rubbing at the wrist that had the bandanna tied around it. How the hell did that get in his throat? How the _hell_ did a _necklace_ get into his throat when he had no memory of swallowing it?

Lisa stared at the rosary, then at Quinn. He obviously had no idea how the necklace had gotten in there. "Are you alright?"

Quinn barely heard her. He just panted and stared at that rosary, wondering if it was real.

It was the same one Evelyn held in the dream.

  
it won't stop


	11. Day 11: Rattling the Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa and Gunnar question Quinn about why he coughed up a necklace belonging to Samara's mother. He tells them what's been going on the last few days.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 11: Rattling the Cage  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 11 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,283  
 **Summary:** Lisa and Gunnar question Quinn about why he coughed up a necklace belonging to Samara's mother. He tells them what's been going on the last few days.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Meredevachon.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #11 Weapon and Coclaim100 Prompt #11 Messenger.  
 **Author's Notes:** The conversation between Lisa and Quinn is based on a scene originally written in 2003 in a played-by-email roleplaying game. That scene was written using completely different characters. One character was played by me, and the other by my roleplay partner, K-kitty, who has granted her permission for what she brought to the story to be used. (She wrote for the woman in the scene.) I rewrote the scene quite a bit, though I used some of my original dialogue.  
Also, this chapter contains spoilers for the movie _When a Stranger Calls_.

  
        "Was that in his sandwich?" one of the nearby patrons asked anyone who might be listening.

        Lisa's mind was reeling, but she still heard what the other customers were saying about the rosary that this guy had just coughed up. They thought the necklace had been in his food. Of course they would think that; it made the most sense. But Lisa knew that was impossible, because this guy (Had his friend said his name was Quinn?) had eaten nothing but chicken wings and beer. A rosary couldn't get into a fucking chicken wing.

        But they just went right on speaking in hushed tones, building the hysteria.

        "Did he order the Flappertizer? 'Cause I ordered the Flappertizer..." a man said to one of the other waitresses.

        That waitress, Danielle, hurried over to Lisa. "What the fuck happened?"

        Lisa pointed to the rosary. "He just coughed that up!"

        Giving her shoulder a push, Danielle quietly said, "Take him into the break room and see if he needs an ambulance. I'll get Scott."

        Lisa took Quinn's arm. "Come with me. You should lie down." What Danielle suggested was for the best. The customers would calm down once they couldn't see the guy anymore. She surmised that there could be all kinds of ways that necklace had gotten into his stomach... maybe he even swallowed it on purpose so he could try for one of those suing scams. Although, something told her this wasn't an act. The guy just seemed too shocked.

        Perhaps he'd been in the hospital, and someone in the surgical team prayed over the rosary and thought it would help better if they actually put it inside him. Some religious fanatic. Or maybe he was like that guy who went on all the talk shows and swallowed lightbulbs and other objects and brought them back up undamaged. Surely the talk show guy wasn't the only one who could do that.

        There had to be _some_ rational explanation.

        Quinn did not fight her. He just allowed himself to be pulled toward the back of the restaurant. As they went, Quinn kept staring at the rosary, coiled up on the table; it got smaller and smaller as he got further from it, but he would never forget how it looked, sitting there. How the holy living hell had that gotten in his throat?!

        Lisa took him through a door marked Employees Only and into a break room with a couch and table, among other things. Gunnar followed them in; he certainly wasn't going to stay out by the table and twiddle his thumbs after what had just happened. "Quinn, are you okay?!" he asked, nearly pouncing on his friend before the door was even closed.

        Quinn plopped down on the couch. He looked shell-shocked. "Uh, I guess."

        "We should call you an ambulance," Lisa suggested. "Were you in the hospital recently?"

        He shook his head.

        "Then how did that thing get in your stomach?" she asked.

        Gunnar added, "Does this have anything to do with what you and Svetlana are into?"

        Looking up sharply, Quinn sighed and then covered his face with his hands. "I don't need an ambulance, okay? It's nothing they can help with. I'll be alright."

        A man with a "Manager: Scott" nametag on entered the room. He carried on a tense but polite conversation with Quinn and Gunnar. Quinn repeatedly refused the idea of calling an ambulance. The manager offered to pay for their meal, which they accepted. They knew it was his way of doing damage control, but only Quinn knew that the gesture was unnecessary. The rosary had not come from his food, no matter how much that made better sense than the real explanation.

        When Scott had left, Gunnar turned to Quinn again. "So? What really happened? When did you swallow that thing?"

        As Quinn began to talk, Lisa brought him a bottle of water. "Thanks," he said as he took it. "This is going to sound crazy, but I never swallowed the necklace. It's like it just... appeared in my throat. I have no idea where it came from."

        They listened, and stared in disbelief. "What do you mean, it _appeared_ in your throat?"

        "I mean, one second, it wasn't there, and the next, I felt it, like it just... materialized. Like a magic trick or something."

        Lisa and Gunnar were stunned into silence for several moments. Gunnar finally said, "Quinn, that's crazy."

        "Told you." He opened the bottle and drank from it, bracing should some other bizarre object come up. None did. When he brought the bottle to his lips again, he saw that his hand was shaking.

        "Better?" Lisa asked.

        Quinn nodded.

        Gunnar asked again, "Does this have anything to do with whatever you and Svet have gotten into?"

        Quinn, taking a deep breath, thought about the whole situation for a few seconds before answering. He gave them the usual disclaimer that he was having to adopt with this bizarre story. "If I tell you what I think is going on, do you promise not to think I'm totally nuts? Because it's all going to sound insane."

        Gunnar shrugged. "I already know you're insane," he joked.

        After a pause to think it over, Lisa nodded her encouragement. "I'm willing to listen." She didn't know these guys, but after you watched someone cough up a rosary that came out of thin air, you wanted to know the full story.

        Quinn looked at both of them, then began, "I swear to you, this is all true. You heard me speak when you brought the beers to our table; you know I couldn't have put that thing in my mouth and faked that."

        Lisa agreed with him. "Yeah, I heard you talking to your friend when I walked up. I don't think that you faked it. You're too freaked out."

        Relieved, Quinn grinned slightly and continued. "I haven't tied one on for weeks, so there's no chance I could have swallowed the rosary while I was drunk. I really have no clue how it got there.

        "Except... I do have a clue, but... it's crazy. Stuff like this simply isn't supposed to be real."

        "What isn't supposed to be real?" asked Gunnar, crossing his arms.

        "You've heard all the nutty stories kids tell in school, right? All the stuff about Bloody Mary appearing in the mirror and the escaped mental patient with a hook for a hand? What do you think of stories like that?"

        Gunnar shrugged again. "They're just stories. Stuff you tell around the campfire in Boy Scouts."

        "Have you ever thought one of them might be true?"

        Lisa and Gunnar briefly fell silent. "What?" Gunnar said in an incredulous tone.

        Lisa touched Quinn's arm. "One of my friends from high school swears that thing about the psycho calling the babysitter happened to her cousin's college roommate. You know, like what happened in that movie. He kept asking her when she was going to check on the children."

        "Where it turns out the calls from the psycho are coming from inside the house?"

        "Yeah," Lisa replied.

        "Pfft," Gunnar scoffed. "That's just a story. Never happened to anybody."

        Frowning, Quinn said, "Gunns, can you be a little more open-minded? This is a pretty crazy story I'm about to tell you..."

        "I can try," Gunnar shrugged. "Lay it on us."

        Quinn let out a heavy sigh. "Well... have you ever heard the story about the videotape with the curse on it, that once you watch it, something really bad happens to you seven days later? I think... well, the more weird stuff that happens, the more I think... this is crazy, it's crazy." He scrubbed tiredly at one of his eyes. "I think I may have watched it."

        There was a pause before Gunnar burst out in mocking laughter. "Oh, Quinn, you really had me going there for a second. Cursed videotape..." He laughed some more.

        Quinn hadn't expected to be taken seriously at first, at least not by the realist, Gunnar. But Lisa was looking at him with wide eyes. "I don't know if I believe in stuff like that."

        "But you've heard the story?"

        "Yes."

        It felt good to tell this to someone outside the situation, a stranger. Spilling your guts to a person who didn't know you was sometimes the best thing you could do to feel at least a little better. "I thought it was a bunch of hooey too, until that tape appeared in my mailbox."

        "Did someone mail it to you?" asked Lisa.

        Quinn told her how the videotape wound up in his possession. "...Jolene put the tape on and we watched it. It was just a bunch of random, weird images. They all seemed to be about some girl with black hair who kept it brushed over her face, so you never got a look at her. Some of it was gross, some of it was creepy, but it wasn't that bad. There kind of seemed to be a narrative there... like, something really bad happened to this family, and the mother jumped off a cliff, and the girl wound up dead down inside a well. The tape ends with a shot of this well. Then, just static." Quinn's eyes were getting bigger and his hands were shaking more and more as he spilled out the story.

        "Svetlana and I started having dreams. Nightmares. They always center around the well, and the girl is still down there, but she's, like, adopted the place as her fortress. And... it's like she wants to pull you down there with her."

        Lisa instantly believed he was telling the truth. Quinn's face was too serious, too stressed, his eyes too frightened.

        "Jolene, she's been seeing things. Hallucinating."

        That got Gunnar's attention; Quinn was his friend, but he was still just a college student. People their age sometimes indulged in the wacky tobacky a little too much and saw freaky shit. But, Jolene, with her partying and trampy ways, was still an _adult_. Almost 40. _She_ was seeing things too?

        Quinn continued. "We did some research. Turns out the girl in the tape is _real_. Her name is Samara Morgan, and she was alive during the 1970's. Samara's adoptive mother murdered her. Bashed her head in, and threw her in the well. I don't know the whole story, but I think Samara made this video somehow. That she has _powers_."

        "Powers?" Gunnar said.

        "Yeah. There was this guy in some of the dreams who said that Samara was sending them to us. She seems to be able to use her mind as a weapon.

        "The tape is her way of getting revenge, or something. Maybe she wants justice. I don't know, I don't even know her! God, I should have known this wouldn't just go away after the mark." Quinn saw them looking at him expectantly. He started to remove the bandanna tied around his wrist. "I had a dream the other day that I leaned on the rim of the well, and the girl reached up and grabbed my wrist. When I woke up..."

        Quinn showed them the wrist with the burn on it in the shape of a slim, female hand: Fingers, thumb, and most of the palm.

        Both Gunnar and Lisa goggled at it. Gunnar felt the marks, as if he thought they might rub off. "Christ... that's a _welt_."

        Lisa did not say anything; her eyes spoke for how disturbing she found the burn on Quinn's wrist.

        "Let me get this straight. This girl, who's _dead_ , came to you in a dream and grabbed your wrist, and you woke up with this mark on you?" Gunnar asked, amazed.

        Quinn nodded.

        "Then Jodie lied to me. She said you were stressed over mid-terms." He paused, thinking about it. "I can see now why she didn't tell me the truth."

        "I know, Gunns. When I tell myself this story in my head, I say, 'Quinn, you're fucking crazy.' Dead girls don't crawl up out of wells and grab you and leave marks on your skin, and then give you the kind of nightmares that could scare someone who's hardly been afraid in all of his life."

        Looking at the handprint again, Lisa made a connection. "This mark on your wrist, it's similar to what just happened to you out there. You coughed up a rosary, a physical object. The stuff that happens to you in the nightmares is so real that is has physical effects on your waking life."

        Gunnar couldn't resist. "Wow, that's pretty intellectual for a waitress at Hooters."

        Scowling, Lisa replied, "Hey, screw you, buddy. This is just a job. I'm a Psych major."

        He snickered. "Sorry."

        She rolled her eyes, then turned back to Quinn. "What's the rosary mean? Do you know?"

        He explained about Evelyn, how he and Svetlana had dreamed of her the night before. "I think this is Samara's way of reminding me that there are only a few days left until... whatever's supposed to happen. That the clock is ticking. It's like there's something I'm supposed to do. But I don't know what. And this thing about seven days... I think I've figured that out. I think that this all ends in seven days, that she lets you go. That'll be Thursday night. At least, I hope that's what it means. The legends have a few different endings, though... that once your days are up, you go insane, or you get absorbed into the tape and become a part of the narrative, or you die. But this is real life, right? That bitch isn't gonna come up here and drag me away..." Quinn looked at Lisa with the most childlike, frightened look in his eyes, as if he'd decreased in age right before her eyes. "...is she?"

        Lisa could understand why this guy was so shaken. What he described concerning Samara, and what he had experienced, it all tapped into typical childhood fears. Fear of small spaces. Fear of the dark. Fear of monsters and people with spooky powers. Fear of death. She touched his arm again, trying to be reassuring. "Of course not. People don't die that way." Lisa laughed a little. "I'm not even sure my friend was telling the truth about the psycho and the babysitter."

        Although Quinn appreciated her trying to make him feel better, he still let out a deep sigh. "I just wish I knew why this girl was doing this to us. There seems to be a message there, in the tape. Maybe she just wants us to listen and understand her pain. But what can we do for her?

        "I'm not usually this easily shaken, but it's rattled me. I admit it. Do you hear that Samara? I admit it, you rattled my cage." He spoke to the ceiling. "Now go bother somebody else."

        Gunnar added, "This is why I brought Quinn here tonight, to get his mind off whatever was troubling him. Jodie thought all the hot bods would be a good distraction. Now I see what from."

        "Jodie's my roommate," explained Quinn.

        Lisa just nodded to that. "Well, Quinn, I'll tell you, that has got to be the craziest story I've ever heard. But I've seen enough to believe it. You know what you're going to do?"

        "What?"

        "You and your girlfriend and whoever else has watched this videotape are simply going to wait out your seven days. If there is something you're supposed to do, I bet Samara will tell you what it is someday soon, maybe on the seventh day. It sounds like this girl enjoys playing with your head."

        "That's what Jodie said, that it was someone's idea of a mindfuck," nodded Quinn.

        "Right. You're going to wait out your seven days, and you'll see that there's nothing to fear. It'll all be over then." Lisa patted his knee. "Then you and Svetlana are going to come here for dinner on Friday night, and I'll give you drinks on the house, okay? We'll have a good laugh over it."

        Although it was a tentative smile, Quinn's grin did contain some hope. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all week."

        When Lisa escorted them back out to their table, they discovered the rosary was gone. Danielle gave them a guilty look as she passed them by with a loaded tray.

        "Lisa, can you do me a favor?"

        "What, Quinn?"

        "Can you get that rosary back from your friend? I know this sounds weird, but I sort of want to keep it. For proof."

        She shrugged. "I'll see what I can do. We don't even know that Danielle took it."

        Gunnar chuckled. "For a Psych major, you don't read people too well, do ya?"

        With another scowl, Lisa flipped him off. Gunnar grinned and laughed heartily. She ignored him, turning back to Quinn. "I'll ask Danielle what happened to it, okay? And if she has it, I can give it back to you on Friday." Lisa added a reassuring smile.

        Quinn smiled back, bigger this time. "Yeah. Friday."

        As the two men prepared to go, Gunnar smirked and tried one last ditch effort to flirt. "You wouldn't have any interest in accompanying me home, would you, Lisa? Help me check under my bed for monsters?"

        Lisa leaned toward him, putting her hand on his arm. "I think you're old enough to do that yourself, buddy boy."

        She waved as they went out the door, then spent the rest of her shift distracted, trying to make sense in her head of the whole crazy story.

        It was the last time Lisa saw Quinn Kirkland alive.

  
it won't stop


	12. Day 12: Streams That Often Converge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samara and her sisters try to discourage the Winchester family from becoming involved in the ring by going after Sam.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 12: Streams That Often Converge  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 12 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,945  
 **Summary:** Samara and her sisters try to discourage the Winchester family from becoming involved in the ring by going after Sam.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Meredevachon.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #12 Bound and Coclaim100 Prompt #12 Scream.  
 **Author's Notes:** Sam Winchester is a character from the TV show _Supernatural_. This part of the fic takes place pre-series.  
Thanks to Rekka for her help with the Japanese.  
I created the concept of Heptamera and his brides and daughters to combine the Japanese and American versions of this story. The idea is based on the fact that Sadako's real father was supposed to be a sea demon. (An idea that was apparently carried over to the American movies, judging by Sister Elizabeth's story about Evelyn.) Heptamera means "seven days" in Greek. I believe that the concept of Heptamera may contradict the Japanese manga, but I don't remember Sadako's demon father ever being named in the movies, on which this fanfic is based.

  
        Lisa held out her hand and said commandingly, "Hand it over, Danielle."

        Flinching a little, Danielle rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket. She produced the rosary and put it into Lisa's hand. "Why do you even want it? I was just going to throw it away."

        "Quinn is coming back at the end of the week. I'm going to give it to him then."

        "Quinn?"

        "That's his name."

        "Why is he coming back?" Danielle thought that was a pretty bad idea, after what had happened. "Did he think of something else to choke on?"

        Lisa, making an _I am not amused_ face, explained it as little as possible. The less people heard about Quinn's nutty story, the better. "Just trust me, him coughing up that necklace has nothing to do with anything he ate. He's coming back... so we can share a good laugh."

        Danielle didn't get it, of course, but she thought maybe it was better that way. "Whatever. Only you would make friends with the guy who _coughed up an object_ while eating here. Just don't give him anymore chicken wings."

        Lisa made that face again before turning her attention to the rosary. "You did clean the spit off this, didn't you?"

        "I wiped it a little with a napkin..."

        Holding the rosary by one bead, Lisa carried it at arm's length toward the kitchen with a small, "Ew."

*****

        Quinn and Gunnar were uncomfortably silent on the ride home, at first. Gunnar wasn't sure what to say. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and breathed in deeply, then just said what he was thinking. "That was a really weird story you told that waitress."

        Quinn didn't reply for so long that Gunnar thought maybe he hadn't heard him. He had opened his mouth to repeat his comment when Quinn said simply, "I know."

        "Do you really believe all that shit?"

        Quinn stared out the window at the rain hitting the street, the droplets rolling down the glass in streams that often converged. "I don't know, man. I haven't gotten a lot of sleep the last few days."

        "You believe it, don't you? You really think some dead girl is after you. Making you throw up stuff." Gunnar laughed lightly. He reached over and ruffled Quinn's curly hair.

        Quinn jumped in his seat. "God! Don't do that."

        "It's made you jumpy." Gunnar laughed again.

        His reaction made Quinn suddenly mad. "Didn't you hear anything I said in there, man? The fact that we're all experiencing this thing doesn't make any kind of impression on you?"

        "I dunno," Gunnar said with a shrug. "Maybe you all took the same acid."

        Quinn tried to think of something to say to wipe that cocky grin off his friend's face. "There's something real going on here, Gunnar. Just ask Jodie. She's the smart one, right? She thinks there's something to all this, just like I do."

        "Oh sure, that's why she asked me to take you out to get your mind off what you'd gotten into. Even Jodie thinks you're losing it."

        His hand to his brow, Quinn stared out the window, momentarily giving Gunnar the silent treatment.

        "Quinn, really, what's this all about? Did you guys party a little too hard and take something you _really_ shouldn't have?" He paused and waited for Quinn to throw something in. "I know how Jolene can be sometimes. She was never the greatest mother figure. Right? Did she bring you guys something? Promise a great high?"

        "I _wish_ it was that simple." Massaging his eyes with his thumb and first finger, Quinn added, "When we get back to my apartment, you can ask Jodie about what's been going on. She'll tell you how real it is."

        "What, did Jodie watch this 'videotape' too?"

        "Yes."

        "How long ago?" Gunnar asked.

        "Uhhh... less than twenty-four hours after I did," replied Quinn.

        "Okay, so what's she experienced so far?" Gunnar's eyebrows creased in growing confusion. "When she called me, she seemed fine. You're freaking out and Jodie's fine. Is that supposed to make sense?"

        Quinn gave it some serious thought. "Well... she... I asked her if she had any nightmares and she said no..."

        "Does Jodes have any welts on her arm?"

        Quinn considered that too. "No. Not yet."

        "Is she having hallucinations?"

        "Not that I know of."

        "The dead girl comes after you, Svet, Jolene... but not Jodie?" Gunnar hoped this would make the point that he was going for, and get Quinn to tell him what really happened.

        Instead, Quinn thought about it harder than he ever had, searching his memory for any sign, any sign at all, that Samara had touched Jodie. "You're right. The dead girl hasn't come after Jodie. Not at all."

        "So? What does that mean?"

        His fingertips to his lips, Quinn again fell silent long enough for Gunnar to think he wasn't going to answer. He didn't want to believe it. After how bad this had gotten - the intense nightmares, the physical effects, the fear - Quinn didn't want to fall back on his original conclusion. He finally said, "What _does_ that mean?"

*****

        None of the people involved in Quinn Kirkland's crisis had met the real Dean Winchester yet. They had only dreamed of him, so they were unaware that he had a younger brother whom he loved probably more than his own life.

        Sammy.

        Sam was currently in Palo Alto, California, attending Stanford College and studying to be a lawyer. Practicing law was a far cry from hunting demons in many ways, but in others, it was exactly the same. But Sam didn't want to hunt anymore. He had never felt completely comfortable in his father and brother's world. There was more call for brute strength than book learning there. They needed someone to do research, look things up in magickal texts and the like, but there was no room for spending copious amounts of time flipping through art history books and reading classic novels. Those things were wastes of time to John Winchester. They were also some of Sam's favorite things to do.

        He had been a good son as long as he could stand it. He had learned how to shoot weapons and ward off evil spirits and everything else that went along with exacting his father's revenge against every evil thing that ever existed to make up for Mary Winchester's death. Sam was done with all that. He wanted his own life.

        Sam Winchester was done with hunting.

        If that meant he had to leave Dean behind too, then so be it. It was unavoidable.

        Left a hole in his gut, a burn in his heart, but unavoidable.

        What Sam did not realize at the time was that he couldn't leave it all behind. It would always find him.

        His roommate had left him alone in their dorm room to attend a party. Sam, now almost 21, had fallen asleep in front of the TV in his favorite beanbag chair, an Advanced Calculus book open on his lap. His long giraffe-like legs sprawled across the floor between the chair and the rickety TV stand. The room was dark except for the light coming from the television. It broadcast only snow. Static.

        But Sam had left the light on, hadn't he?

         _Chhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_. Static had its own sound. Hissing. The sound of nothing. Sometimes, if you listened hard enough

         _"sam"_

        He stirred just a little in his sleep with a snort.

         _"Sam"_

        Sam grunted softly, then smacked his lips and lifted his head off the beanbag chair. He opened his eyes slightly, squinting at the TV.

         _"Sammy. That's your name?"_

        Sam just squinted at the static on the screen. He wiped some drool from the side of his mouth. "Yeah, I'm Sam," he replied sleepily.

         _"What's your mommy's name?"_

        He tried to sit up a little. Someone was talking to him, but he didn't know where the voice was coming from. "Who's talking to me?" Sam asked, peering around the dim room.

         _"Is your mommy named Mary?"_

        Sam looked right at the television. The voice was coming from the television. "Uhh... yeah. That was her name."

         _"But she died."_

        His brow furrowed suspiciously. "Yeah." He paused, trying to figure this one out. "Who's speaking?" The voice sounded like a child, a girl.

         _"That's sad,"_ the voice said quietly, regretfully. _"My mommy's dead too. One of them, anyway."_ She stopped talking for a few moments, the sound of her voice melting into the hissing of the static. _"You seem nice,"_ the child finally said.

        "Thanks..." Sam pushed himself up a bit further, as far as a person could sit up in such a mushy chair. "What's _your_ name?"

         _"Samara,"_ came the answer.

        When she didn't offer any more information, Sam asked, "Why are you talking to me through the TV?"

        Her voice drifted from the static once more. _"Because you can hear me."_

        Sam wanted to say, _"Well, duh,"_ but it didn't seem like the best idea. "I know that, but... is there something you want?"

         _"Most people can't."_

        It took him a second to understand what the child meant. "Most people can't hear you?"

         _"No, they can't."_

        "Oh." He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. "Well, maybe you should try calling them on the phone instead of talking to them through televisions..."

         _"I only call people when they've watched my tape."_

        Sam blinked in confused silence. "What?"

         _"That's what I've come to you about. You need to tell them not to come. They shouldn't... they shouldn't... it's such a big word..."_

        Sam understood he was talking to a child. "Take your time," he said.

         _"Tell them they shouldn't interfere,"_ Samara instructed, saying the last word with pride at having said it correctly.

        "Who?"

        Samara paused. She then replied, _"Your father and brother."_

        This made him blink again in stunned confusion. Sam hadn't even talked to Dad or Dean for months. "Huh?"

         _"Tell Dad and Dean not to interfere. They shouldn't get involved in this."_ Samara giggled. _"They can't stop us."_

        "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Sam asked. Were his father and brother in danger?

        The child giggled again. _"It's nice having a brother, isn't it? I never had a brother, but I've got sisters. So very many sisterssssss..."_ Samara's voice faded into the sound of the static.

        "Hey! Samara? What do you mean? What shouldn't they get involved in?"

        A new voice came from the television, one a little older and full of malice. _"Tell your father and brother not to come to Boston. They can't stop the ring. No one can ever, ever stop it."_

        Frustrated, Sam said, "I don't know what you mean. Is this a case they're involved in?"

         _"Just do as I say!"_ An image flashed on the screen for a second, cutting through the static with a jarring crackling sound. It was a woman reflected in a mirror, a dark-haired woman, brushing her hair. _"When we're finished talking, call them up and tell them not to go to Boston this weekend. They'll regret it."_

        Sam had seen that woman in the mirror before. The entire image rang bells he couldn't even place at the moment. "I'm not doing anything until you tell me what this is all about."

         _"Call your brother and tell him what's going on in Boston is none of his business. Your family has interfered enough already."_

        "I'm not going to be threatened, especially not through a television by some faceless entity."

         _"This cycle has been going on since long before you were born. You do not want to fuck with us, Sammy."_

        Another image flashed on the screen, that of a teenage girl with short blonde hair riding a horse across a beach. It was gone as quickly as it came.

        "Oh, I see. Whatever you are, you're trying to get to my dad and brother through me. They're about to take you on. And you find them intimidating," Sam said with a satisfied grin. "They scare you."

        A long pause. Just the sound of the static. Then the screen jumped violently, crackling. Another voice came out of the hiss, a new one. _"Shikata ga nai ne,"_ that voice said with a sigh.

        Sam did not know what that meant, or how many different people were on the other end of this strange communication. He felt warm liquid running from one nostril, and put his finger to his nose. Blood.

        Sam felt himself being shaken by the shoulder. He came awake with a gasp.

        "Sam. Hey, Sam!" his roommate, Gerald, called. "Wake up!"

        Looking around, Sam saw that the light was still on. So it had been a dream, just a dream, after all. "Uh... oh, hey, Gerry. You back from the party?"

        "Yeah. It wasn't so great. Hardly any cute girls."

        The television was on, tuned to a channel that had gone off the air.

        Nothing but static.

        Sam's fingers went to his nose just as Gerald said, "You better take care of that. Your nose is bleeding." He handed Sam a tissue.

        Sam took it, put it to his nose, and leaned back to stop the flow of blood. Okay, that was strange. "I had a dream that I had a nosebleed."

        "Oh, yeah... that's like those dreams where you need to go to the bathroom, and you search frantically for a toilet, then you wake up and realize that you've really gotta take a piss," Gerald said while getting undressed and ready for bed.

        "I guess." Sam stared at the staticky television. "These girls were talking to me through the TV."

        Gerald laughed. "Was there snow on it, like the TV is now?"

        "Yeah."

        He laughed again. Once he had his pajamas on, Gerald walked over and put his hand on the TV screen. "They're here."

        "Huh? Oh..." Sam laughed too, just now seeing the similarities. "Like that movie, _Poltergeist_."

        "Yeah. Carolanne, talking to the 'TV people.' You remember what they said about channels not receiving a broadcast?" Leaning down, Gerald put his face very close to the screen, making a spooky face. "They can receive communications from the dead."

****

        Long after Gerald had fallen asleep, Sam was still staring at his phone, Dean's number already highlighted. They hadn't spoken in months, not even to say hi.

         _"It was just a dream,"_ he told himself. Didn't mean a thing.

        Except, it did. Sam knew he recognized those two images from somewhere. A woman brushing her hair in an off-center mirror. A girl riding a horse across a beach. The fact that he had seen those scenes somewhere before is what gave him pause. They had significance.

         _"You probably just saw them in a movie and put them in your dream,"_ a cynical voice said inside him. _"Stop looking for an excuse to call Dean and just call him because you want to."_

        Cynical Voice had a point there. Sam looked at the clock. Even Dean would be in bed by this time. He vowed to give him a call in the morning. Hopefully, that would satisfy the weird impulse in his head that caused him to have such an elaborate, strange dream just to tell him he missed his brother. Sam lay down and soon fell asleep.

        He could smell the sea. An archway open onto a balcony revealed the Mediterranean beyond. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore was so rhythmic that Sam thought he could listen to it all day.

        This was the kind of dream Sam could go for. At the time, he didn't know he was dreaming, so it made perfect sense that he could be lying in his bed in the dorm room he shared with Gerald and also in this room in Greece. He wasn't sure how he knew it was Greece; the Mediterranean touched so many other nations... something just told him. It also made no impression on Sam that half his room had blended into this other house. The walls changed halfway across, a subtle metamorphosis.

        A noise, like heavy canvas stirred by the wind, drew Sam's attention away from the balcony view. A very tall canvas, an artist's canvas, leaned on an easel that almost touched the floor. Sam estimated that it stood about eight feet tall and five feet wide. As he pivoted his body, sitting up slightly, he noticed that a woman was seated in a chair at one corner of his bed. It startled him.

        The woman was very beautiful. Her seductive face and ice blue eyes were framed with black hair so long it touched the small of her back. She wore white lace, down to a hood draped over her head. Staring at Sam, the woman said something to him in Greek.

         _"Sit still. You are my model,"_ she said. Sam didn't know how he could understand her, since he didn't speak a word of conversational Greek, not a single dialect. A voice in his head translated for him.

        "You... you want to paint me?" Sam asked.

        The woman put a finger to her lips. _"Shhhhh."_ Apparently, that meant the same thing in Greek as it did in English.

        While Sam watched, she closed her eyes and lowered her head to her chest. The woman seemed to be concentrating on something. After a short time, she raised her head and opened her eyes. Her irises had gone milky white. All that was left were black, black pupils.

        "Are you alright?"

        Her head lolled back on her neck, and she made strange noises in the back of her throat. Moans. Choking sounds. Clickings. She writhed in the chair. The woman raised her head again, looking through him instead of at him, and he could see her pupils now swam with deep sea green light. Luminous, hypnotizing. Sam wondered if she was possessed.

        A sound coming from the canvas drew Sam's attention. Lines of fire sketched their way across its surface. They quickly extinguished, leaving behind a pattern in the burns. Sam was amazed when he realized that he could see the image of his own face, in profile, in the scorched pattern.

        "Is that... is that how you paint?" he asked the woman.

        Once the "portrait" was done, she blinked several times and shook her head. Her eyes cleared. Then she looked at Sam with some anger in her eyes and put her hands on the corner of his bed. In a matter of seconds, her long hair became soaked with water, though he saw no source, and crawled over her face like a willful thing. She climbed up onto his bed with him.

        "Wait!" Sam tried to roll off the bed, but she moved with supernatural speed, catching him off guard and straddling his body with her hands. "What are you doing? Get - " Sam gasped as the woman's hair, with a mind of its own, wrapped around his wrists and bound him to the bed. He started to scream. "Let me go!"

        The woman spoke to Sam in Greek, with the voice translating in his head again. _"You didn't want to listen when the sisters tried to tell you. Maybe you'll listen to me. The ring has been in operation for more than two hundred years. It has changed with the times, but it still functions. It will not be stopped. My daughter must be avenged. All of his daughters must be avenged. You do not understand, but someday, you will. Tell your father and brother to stay away. They must not become involved. If they go any deeper into this, we will have no choice but to make all of you very, very sorry."_

        Sam could hear whispering voices all around his bed. People crying out for help. Victims of a curse. Hundreds of them.

         _"You have no idea the power Heptamera has. He doesn't claim anyone who keeps their end of the deal. All he wanted was to have a family. But they took that away from him. Took it all away! My little girl!"_

        She leaned down, her face only inches from his. Sam could smell sea water and rotting flesh now. He whimpered loudly and struggled with his bonds. Some strands crackled and broke, but the hair held fast, and pulled itself tighter, sliding along his skin like a wet rope, like a live thing. This made him shudder.

         _"You will not stop his curse on the world. Not you, not your father, not your brother! Tell them! Heed my warning! I am not Heptamera's only bride, but I was his **first**!"_

        Sam came awake with a jerk that shook his entire little twin bed, on which he barely fit. He had to resist the urge to turn on the light. Even though the moonlight coming in through the window on Gerald's side of the room was faint, Sam could still see that his tiny dorm room was back to its normal size, with no archway and balcony extension. No smell of the sea. No canvas with his image burned into it. No woman sitting at the foot of his bed. None of it was real.

        Even so, Sam knew that Dad and Dean must be tracking something big. Big and bad. Whatever they had done, it had caused the beast to try to get at them through him.

        Whatever it was, they had royally pissed it off.

        But Sam Winchester did not hunt anymore. So he turned over on his side, cuddling his pillow in both hands, and tried to forget it. Tried to go back to sleep.

        Sam's eyes widened in the dark when he saw the strands of black hair shining in the moonlight, wrapped loosely around his wrists.

  
it won't stop


	13. Day 13: Dispelling of Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Svetlana make their first attempt to communicate with Samara directly.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 13: Dispelling of Shadows  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 13 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 4,337  
 **Summary:** Quinn and Svetlana make their first attempt to communicate with Samara directly.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #13 Nails and Coclaim100 Prompt #13 Not Enough.  
 **Author's Notes:** Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over it, even if it's just this chapter, I'd really appreciate it.  
Rappings are a form of communication with ghosts where the spirit is invited to knock on a solid surface to answer questions.  
Yes, this is how I learned to spell Mississippi. ;)

  
        Quinn did have some good-looking friends, but that didn't mean Jodie wouldn't give any of them a run for their money when it was time to argue a point. "Okay, Gunns, if you don't believe in any of this stuff involving the tape, then explain where the rosary came from." Even as she said it, she could hardly believe it herself. Quinn had coughed up a necklace out of nowhere. Samara's birthmother's necklace. Jodie couldn't help but be a little excited at this bizarre horror movie come to life. She only wished she was experiencing more of it firsthand.

        Shrugging, Gunnar scratched the back of his neck and said, "I dunno. Maybe you guys tied one on the other night and someone dared him to swallow it. People do dumb things when they're drunk."

        Quinn had been sitting on the arm of the couch, not adding much to the conversation, until this moment. Now he said, "I already told you, I haven't gotten drunk in weeks. That's a stupid explanation anyway. Stop grasping at straws and just admit that something unexplainable is going on here."

        "I think you guys are playing a joke on me." Gunnar looked at Jodie. "I know about you and your horror pranks, you know."

        Jodie and Quinn rolled their eyes in unison. "Fine, smarty pants. If you're so sure, then you'll have no problem watching the tape," Quinn dared.

        "Oh _hell_ no. You're not getting me with that shit."

        Pointing at him and waving her hand wildly, Jodie cried, "Ah! Ah HA ha! See, you won't watch the tape. You believe it has power."

        Gunnar smirked. "I'm just not going to take the chance. Just in case."

        With a sigh, Quinn lowered his head sharply and shook it back and forth.

        Jodie, crossing her arms, said, "I can't believe your stubborn, skeptical attitude, Gunnar. With the brother you have! I'd think you'd have a more open mind."

        At the mention of Beckett, Gunnar ducked his head sheepishly. He didn't like talking about this. When your kid brother regularly worked with the police on cases as a psychic, you grew to believe in a lot of strange things. But not everything. "Yeah, my brother does work for the cops from time to time as a psychometrist. But why does that mean I'm supposed to believe in any crackpot thing that comes along? Suddenly _I'm_ some kind of expert on paranormal shit? You think I like complete strangers who find out about this coming up to me on the street with their photographs of white blobs, badgering me to tell them whether they're ghosts? 'Look, look, I've got pictures of orbs. These are real ghost orbs, aren't they? Never mind that I took my photographs in a cemetery on a night that it was _raining_ ; I know they're real. I just want the brother of the psychic weirdo to confirm it for me. Screw lens flare. Stop giving me rational explanations! I want my pictures to be real!' Why are people so damn obsessed with the ghost orbs anyway? They're not so great."

        Jodie couldn't help but giggle at his rant; Gunnar's tone and sarcastic delivery made it funny. "I'm sorry, Gunns. I guess I shouldn't expect you to believe in just anything."

        "You bet your sweet bippy you shouldn't. You know, I believe in what my brother can do because I've seen it in action. But this? This is some unbelievable bullshit you guys are spouting. I mean, really. A cursed videotape? Can't you do better than that?" Gunnar scoffed.

        Quinn frustratedly bounced on the arm of the couch. "I show you a burn on my arm in the shape of a girl's hand, and not even that makes a dent in that hard head of yours? I give up."

        "How hard did Jodie have to rub to give you that Indian burn anyway?"

        Quinn shook his head in defeat. He was getting used to making that gesture lately.

        With a desire to lighten the mood a little, Gunnar added, "You know what ghost orbs remind me of? The bouncing ball from those musical cartoons. You know, the ones where a song plays and a white ball bounces along the lyrics just so you don't fuck 'em up."

        Jodie giggled again.

        Quinn grinned slightly. "Yeah, I remember those."

        Gunnar continued, "Early karaoke. You know what one was my favorite? The one that taught you how to spell Mississippi. I'll never forget how to spell it because of that cartoon." He looked around, found Jodie's dusty volleyball forgotten in a corner, and held it out. "'M-I-S, S-I-S, S-I-P-P-I.'" As he sang, Gunnar bounced the ball on the imaginary lyrics. Jodie started to laugh, then sang along as the song came back to her too. "'That used to be so hard to spell, it used to make me cry.'"

        Although part of him wanted to continue sulking over the fact that Gunnar didn't believe him, an involuntary smile broke out across Quinn's face. He softly joined in, where they could barely hear him. "'But since I have learned spelling, it's just like pumpkin pie.'"

        "'M-I-S, S-I-S, S-I-P-P-I!'" As Gunnar finished, he spiked the volleyball. It sailed across the room, bounced off the wall, and skidded across the kitchen table, scattering napkins, coupon circulars, and condiments everywhere. Everyone busted out laughing. Quinn fell over on the couch and had a good chuckle; he needed it.

        "Even though our evening went to bizarro world, I hope you had a good time anyway, buddy," Gunnar told his friend, and picked up his jacket to leave.

        Quinn did not sit up; he merely spoke to Gunnar from his teetered position on the couch. "I know you think I'm yankin' your chain, but can you do me a favor? Will you ask Beckett to come over here as soon as he can manage it? You gave me an idea."

        "What?" Gunnar asked, squinting with suspicion.

        "Well, he's a psychometrist, right? He holds things and gets psychic impressions off them?"

        "That's how it works..."

        "I want him to hold the videotape," said Quinn. "Maybe he'll get some useful impressions from it. Like, he might see who gave it to me. Or, I don't know, something else." Quinn hoped Beckett would see whatever it was he was supposed to do to make the curse stop.

        Gunnar gave him an exaggerated eye roll. "I'll see what I can do. But why you want my brother to touch that tape and then describe how you and Jodie plotted your little trick, I'll never know." He turned to go with another smirk.

        Jodie threw a couch pillow at the back of his head. "You'll see!"

*****

        That night, Quinn was more than a little sorry to be sleeping alone. The darkness of his room took on a whole new eerie quality now that he was on Samara's ride, the roller coaster that lasted seven days. Although he'd never want to admit it, he was afraid. All the shadows formed arms reaching for him.

        Shortly after midnight, he tried Svetlana's cell phone. Quinn got her voicemail. "Lucky you. You must be snoozing," he mumbled to himself.

        He couldn't have said when he fell asleep. All Quinn was aware of was waking up to the sounds. It was an eerie scratching, all around him in the dark. He looked at the clock. 3:26 AM. It sounded like an animal in the walls, then like someone standing in the corner running their fingernails over the wallpaper. Repetitively. Randomly.

        In reaction, Quinn turned on the lamp for the first time. The noise stopped as soon as the light touched the room. Nothing out of the ordinary.

        A small, childish part of him wanted to leave the light on, but the adult part vetoed that idea as silly, pure cowardice. Quinn switched the lamp back off and tried to go back to sleep.

        Within a minute, there came a faint scratching sound from the corner behind the door. It grew louder, but it seemed to stay in the same place this time. Quinn squinted in the blackness and tried to make out whatever could be causing that noise.

        There was something there.

         _Scritch, scritch, scritch._

        It was just indistinct blobs at this point, black and white, but the longer Quinn looked, the more he could make out.

        It was Samara.

         _Stop it_ , he scolded himself. But it did look very much like a little girl in a white dress facing the corner, her hand touching the wall. Quinn stared for over a minute, waiting for any movement. There. That scratching sound again. At the same time, the hand on the wall moved. Quinn was sure of it. Samara's little fingers scraped down the wall, the nails going _scritch, scritch, scritch_.

        With a small whimper, Quinn quickly reached over and turned the light back on. The corner was, again, empty. He stared at it, just feeling his heart beat fast and his arms shake with the anxiety of knowing something had been in his room.

        Samara was playing games with his mind. Whatever she was trying to do, it was working.

        That was it. Quinn could not turn the light back off, nor could he just fall asleep alone in his bed. He was prepared to beg Jodie to let him sleep with her. Whatever it would take to slow his panicked heart down. The adult side of him chided his behavior again. How could he even think of sleeping in Jodie's bed like some four-year-old who'd just had a nightmare? What would Svetlana think when she found out?

        Shortly after, Quinn found himself standing in the living room several feet from Jodie's closed door, too embarrassed to go into her room, too freaked out to go back into his alone. He fidgeted and paced and chewed on his fingernails with indecision. Lucky for him, he didn't have to torture himself for more than a few minutes, because a key turned in the lock of the front door and Svetlana walked in with Darcy in tow.

        "Hey... what are you doing here so late, babe?"

        Both were dressed in their pajamas. They'd thrown on their coats and shoes and were carrying pillows and blankets from their dorm room. "We, um... we couldn't sleep in our room anymore."

        "You could have called before you came over. I know I gave you an extra key, but you still nearly scared me out of my wits."

        Svetlana gave him a tired, annoyed scowl. "Don't start, Quinn. Let's just go to bed, okay?"

        "Where am I supposed to sleep?" Darcy asked. She had a shell-shocked expression on her face, like she had a million things she needed to say, or she'd completely lose it.

        Quinn instantly knew from that look, and the veiled panic in Darcy's voice, that something had happened. Samara had messed with Svet tonight too. "On the couch, I guess."

        "Alone?!"

        Jodie's door opened and she peered out with a sleepy, irritated squint. She also had a colossal case of bed hair. "What are you guys doing out here?" Noticing Svetlana and Darcy, her eyes widened in surprise. "Uh, hi?"

        Svetlana asked, "Can Darcy sleep with you?"

        Darcy looked at her like a lost puppy, hopeful and practically begging.

        "What happened?" Something had to of occurred. Svetlana wouldn't have come over in the middle of the night with Darcy right behind her otherwise.

        "Let's talk about it in the morning, okay? Be a pal?"

        Jodie didn't want to be a bitch to Svetlana just because of who she was, and she didn't dislike Darcy or anything. Besides, she knew something had happened, and wanted Darcy to spill the details. "Okay, sure. But don't hog the covers. My bed's not as big as Quinn's."

        As soon as Quinn and Svet had gone in his room, and Jodie had closed her door, the two girls nearly pounced on each other.

        "What happened?" Jodie asked.

        "Oh my God, Jodie!" Darcy said at the same time.

        Jodie added, "You go first."

        Darcy, keeping her voice to hushed tones, began, "What the hell have Quinn and Svet gotten into over here? Devil worship?!"

        Taken aback, Jodie replied, "What? _Devil worship?_ "

        "There was something in our room tonight! I swear to God, Jodie, there was some kind of _thing_ there." She hugged her blanket to her chest. "Did you lie to me when you said they were acting weird because of stress?"

        Jodie sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you what was really going on, Darce. Trust me." She paused before saying, "What kind of thing?"

        Darcy nervously described how something began scratching at the walls in the dark. Unlike Quinn and Svetlana, she hadn't actually seen anything, just heard it. "Svetlana reacted to it like she could see something. She addressed the corner like someone was there. Every time we turned on the light, the noise would stop. But when the lights were off... it was like some sort of... of _beast_ was in the room. Svet called it 'Samara.' Said Samara was going to get 'er."

        Wow, this was awkward. "Darcy..."

        "I read a book on this, you know. For church. You can't blow smoke up my ass anymore. I know what's going on."

        Jodie had to hear this. "What do you think's going on?"

        With conviction, Darcy hugged her blanket and replied, "Svetlana's possessed, isn't she?"

        Jodie put a hand over her face and just started to laugh.

*****

        Quinn wasn't at all surprised by Svetlana's familiar story. "Samara's playing a game with us, Svet."

        "You know, I told myself that, but it just wasn't enough." Sitting on the bed, Svetlana looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "I'm really scared of her. In fact, you could say I'm terrified. Quinn, I have horrible feeling that this evil little girl means to do us harm." Her voice broke with threatening tears.

        Quinn sat next to her on the bed and hugged her to him. "That's exactly what she wants you to think. But, Svet, remember all those people on the message board? They're fine."

        "I keep telling myself that too," Svetlana said with a teary laugh, "but it do not help. I keep thinking that in reality, no one die from a curse put on a videotape. But then I remember what D guy told us in the dream. That if we didn't do some special task, we would _die_ , Quinn. What does it all mean?"

        Reaching over to the bedside table, he picked up his digital camera. "This is how we find out. We bargain for information."

        She looked at him, perplexed.

        "That girl Vanessa thinks we don't know what she's up to, but I know a thing or two about what she wants. She gets a high off all this horror stuff, just like Jodie. Her seven days are through, and I don't think you can repeat this experience by watching the tape again. One ticket equals one ride. If Samara's trying to spread a message, what good does it do her to tell the story to the same person over and over?"

        Svetlana sniffled. "I guess none."

        "Exactly. So, the only way Vanessa can experience her high repeatedly is to live vicariously through new victims of the curse. That's why she wants us to scan our pictures and upload them to her message board." Quinn absently kissed the side of his girlfriend's head. "The more cool shit we upload for her, the more she tells us what she knows."

        "You think she know more than she's letting on?"

        "Shit yeah."

        With trepidation, Svetlana lightly touched the camera. "What we going to take picture of?"

        He knew she wasn't going to like this. "You know all the pictures on the message board, where people photographed the hallucinations caused by Samara? We're going to try to get some pictures like that." Quinn gestured toward the empty corner behind the door. "If we turn the lights off, Samara will come."

        Just the thought of that instantly set off a fresh crying jag for Svetlana. "No, _no_ , Quinn! You can't mean that."

        "Do you have any other hot ideas?" he asked. Quinn added another kiss to her temple. "Don't worry. I'm here to protect you. You can just hide under the covers and I'll do the rest."

        That is exactly what she did while they waited in the dark for Samara to come. They were both under the sheets, listening for any sound. "I gather that bed covers are monster shields in Holland as well?" he whispered.

        She rolled her eyes and giggled.

         _Scritch, scritch._

        Svetlana jumped at the sound. "Quinn!"

        "Shh!" He waited a few more seconds before peeking out from under the sheet and steadying the camera in front of his eyes. On the little preview screen, he could faintly see the outline of Samara standing in the corner. Quinn briefly wondered if he was really seeing anything there at all, or if it was just his sleep-deprived mind making reality of phantoms.

        Her hand moved. _Scritch, scritch._

        Quinn took a picture, using the flash. Then he dove back under the covers with Svetlana and waited for the photo to reload.

        It only took two seconds. They both gasped at the small, illuminated screen.

        The picture was very dark and fuzzy. It did seem, though, that a little girl stood with her face to the wall, head down, one hand on the wall. But she didn't appear to be in Quinn's room. Samara was flanked by black blobs of furniture that he had never seen before; it wasn't even clear whether she was standing in a corner or against a flat wall in this photo.

        "Your walls aren't that light," Svetlana whispered. "Your wallpaper dark blue."

        "This isn't my room," Quinn said of the photo.

        Svet, trying to find the right words, looked for small details on the screen, anything of which she could make sense. "It's like... it's like you took picture of some other place... in the past. Samara sent us one of her memories."

        "Only, this can't be one of _her_ memories, because she couldn't stand here and look at herself from the back. This is something that came from her imagination, or - "

         _Scritch, scritch._

        The sound came from the wall next to the left side of Quinn's bed, not that far from his head.

        Svetlana let out a squeal and scooted frantically across the bed, squishing herself into the wall that the right side of the bed was up against. Quinn moved toward her. The sheets looked like they were covering a tumultuous volcano. "Svet, shh, shhh, calm down," he said in a hushed voice.

        "She going to get in the bed with us!" Svetlana replied, terrified and panicked.

        Quinn managed to get a handle on her flailing arms and hugged her to his chest. "I don't think so. Samara's just trying to scare us. Calm down, calm down, shhhh."

        Svetlana tried to take deep breaths, but she couldn't stop crying, not after the thought got into her head that the scary little bitch might actually crawl into bed with her. She buried herself into Quinn's chest and hid her face against him.

        The scratching noise moved to the footboard of the bed. The child's nails sounded different moving over the dark cherry wood. _Scratch, scratch_.

        The cry Svet let out this time was even more shrill and frightened. She jumped against Quinn's body, but she didn't move away this time.

        Quinn remembered something his sister Danica had told him one time. She read a lot of books on the paranormal as a hobby - the interest is what sparked her first conversation with Jodie, in the library of their junior high. Danica had once told him how ghosts would sometimes communicate with the living by knocking on a solid surface. Maybe...

        "Is that you, Samara?" It didn't matter if the covers muffled Quinn's voice. She would hear him.

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "Don't talk to her," Svetlana wept so quietly that Quinn almost didn't hear her.

        "If I asked you some questions, would you answer them? Indicate that you understand me by scratching once."

         _Scratch._

        "Okay. Scratch once for 'no,' twice for 'yes,' and three times for 'it depends.' Do you understand?"

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "Who gave me that tape?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Quinn rolled his eyes at his silly mistake. Only 'yes' or 'no' questions. "I mean... did Jodie engineer it so I would get your tape?"

         _Scratch._

        Once for no. That was a surprise. "They why - shit, this is hard."

        "Just tell her to go away," Svetlana sobbed in fear.

        "Calm down, baby. We've got to find some stuff out. I won't let her do anything to you." Quinn continued, "Jolene brought the tape in. Is she the one who did this to us?"

         _Scratch._

        "She was just an innocent bystander?"

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "Did, um... did Gunnar give us the tape?"

         _Scratch._

        "Why am I even asking that; whoever gave it to us knew what the tape could do."

        "They wanted to hurt us," Svet added.

        "Yeah." Quinn searched his memory for enemies from the past. He couldn't think of a single person who'd want to hurt him now, but there were a couple of ex-girlfriends who were probably still a little mad at him. Jodie was the only ex he'd ever been able to stay friends with. "Did Marianne give us the tape?"

         _Scratch._

        "Did Tanya give us the tape?"

         _Scratch._

        Quinn shot a brief sidelong glance at Svetlana. "Did Ashly give us the tape?"

        "Quinn!" she said angrily.

         _Scratch._

        No. Another surprise. "Sorry."

        Svetlana smacked his chest. "Like it even be possible."

        With a sigh, Quinn tried to just move on with the questioning. "The person who gave us the tape is someone we'd never expect?"

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "Great. I wanted to know so I could _thank_ them," he said bitterly.

        Svetlana made an "mm-hm" sound of agreement.

        "So, there's something we have to do to make you stop bothering us, right?"

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "We've got seven days to do it?"

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "What happens - I mean... if we don't..."

        Svetlana knew exactly how to phrase the question. "Are you going to hurt us?"

         _Scratch, scratch... scratch._

        "Man, you're a wicked little brat for pausing, you know that?" Quinn said, suddenly lashing out at the child.

         _Scratch, scratch._

        "I wish I could find that funny. Okay, it depends. Depends on what? Does it... uh..."

        Again, Svetlana knew how to ask the most difficult question of all. "If we don't complete task before end of seven days, are you going to kill us?"

        It was torture, how long Samara waited. But she finally answered.

         _Scratch, scratch_.

        Her face falling, Svet began to cry harder against Quinn's chest.

        "Bullshit," he spat.

        "Just tell her to go away," sobbed Svetlana again. "Please, please go away."

        "Will you leave and let us sleep for the night, Samara? Please?" Quinn asked.

        The child paused once more before replying. _Scratch, scratch_.

        "Good. Good," Svet chanted to herself, rocking against his chest.

        Angered by how much Samara had scared his girlfriend, Quinn growled, "Good _riddance_ , you evil little brat."

        He felt the two small hands dig into the sheets on either side of his right leg and knew what Samara was about to do a split second before the covers were yanked off the bed. Svet jerked violently in his arms and let out a hysterical shriek so jagged with fear that Quinn thought he might never get her calmed down again.

        He turned on the light as quickly as he could, but not even the dispelling of shadows could make her stop crying.

        The scream had roused Jodie and Darcy, who listened to the story with uneasy attention. Jodie wished she had been there; communicating with the dead by a form of rappings? Badass. Darcy just wished she could get rid of the horrible feeling that chilled her insides every time she thought of being alone with Svetlana again.

        No one slept any more that night.

  
it won't stop


	14. Day 14: I Collect Seventh Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has dreams of Quinn's funeral that are very enlightening. The dream leads Vanessa to suspect that Vicki is plotting against her with Dean Winchester, but is she seeing a vision of the present or future?

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 14: I Collect Seventh Days  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 14 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,288  
 **Summary:** Everyone has dreams of Quinn's funeral that are very enlightening. The dream leads Vanessa to suspect that Vicki is plotting against her with Dean Winchester, but is she seeing a vision of the present or future?  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #14 Coffin/Buried and Coclaim100 Prompt #14 Heart.  
 **Author's Notes:** Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.  
 **Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural." Set pre-series.**  
The Boston Central High School in this story bears no association with any real Boston Central High that may be in existence. At the time of this writing, to the best of my knowledge, there seems to be no school with this exact name. The school I reference in this story is fictional.

  
        No one slept in Quinn and Jodie's household until the sun came up.

        Quinn ran his fingers over several short marks that had been scratched into the footboard of his bed. "My parents are going to freak when they see these..."

        Svetlana mumbled, " _That_ is what you worry about?"

        Overcome by exhaustion, they all fell into an uneasy sleep. And dreamed of the same thing.

        Quinn's funeral.

        Svetlana quickly realized that no one could see her. She even waved her hand in front of some of the crying faces, but there was no reaction. Many people sat in the hall, its walls lined on either side with large arrangements of flowers. Some had sashes hung across them with phrases like _Our Condolences_ and _With Sympathy_. Svet walked up the middle aisle toward the open coffin in the front of the hall. At first, she walked quickly, wanting to know who was in the casket. But once she caught sight of a tuft of curly blond hair, Svetlana slowed down, approaching with fear.

        All crying, all wearing black. Most of them, Quinn's family.

        The subject of this funeral was Quinn.

        "No," Svet nearly whispered. She reached the side of the coffin and looked down into it. Quinn lay motionless, his hands folded together across his chest. Something about his face seemed wrong. For one thing, he had been pasted with far too much makeup, like the funeral directors were trying to hide an unnatural pallor. Svetlana reached out to touch his face, but pulled her hand back abruptly. Tears ran from her eyes.

        "This can't be real." She whirled on the attendees. "This is just dream! Why you not hear me?! I'm right here! Quinn isn't - " Spotting a familiar face, Svetlana felt her knees go weak. She collapsed to the floor in front of Dean Winchester. He sat in the audience with an older, bearded man whom she didn't recognize. Both were wearing dark suits. Obviously, he couldn't see her either. "It's you! You came... but..." Svetlana looked at the coffin, and back at Dean. "If this is Quinn's funeral..." With a horrified gasp, she covered her mouth with her hands. "...does that mean you _fail?_ "

        Dean did not answer.

        "No! You... you can't fail. You have to get here in time! We've only got four days left."

        The sound of dripping water stole Svetlana's attention. She looked back at Quinn's coffin to see Samara standing before it, water dripping off her long hair and dirty white dress. "Svetlana. I think you would have made a great mommy," the child said.

        Svet shuddered all over. It said her _name_. "You know things, right? You shoot Samara in the face and she blow apart," she said to Dean. "Please tell me who you are."

        He did not respond, only continued to look at the coffin with an unsatisfied, troubled expression.

        Samara began to walk slowly toward them.

        Seeing that, Svetlana became afraid and frantic. "Please, please, hear me!" She tried to touch Dean's arm. While he was very solid, she was not, and her hand passed right through him. Her eyes widened in shock.

        Samara came closer.

        Getting to her feet, Svetlana cried, "Please get here in time! Don't let us die!" and ran down the aisle toward the doors. They were locked, but she still yanked at the metal handles, making the doors shake noisily as she groaned in frustration.

        As in her previous dream, someone was sitting on a bench to the left side of the doors. Svetlana addressed them directly. "Why are you here? It doesn't make any sense for you to come all this way for Quinn's funeral. I would never ask that." She sank to her knees before the crying person. "Why would you cry for Quinn?"

        A young woman stood near this person, but she didn't seem to be with them. She was snickering with her hand to her mouth. "You don't even know," the girl said.

        "What?" Svetlana recognized her from her picture on the message board. Vanessa, from Astoria.

        "Let me tell ya..." The dark-haired girl made an "okay" sign with her hand and gestured at Svet with it. "Your seventh day _rocked_. Everyone on my message board thought so."

        "I know who you are. You're Vanessa!" Svetlana said. "You know how we beat the curse. Please tell me! I can't take this anymore. I'm a wimp, okay? I don't like being scared. I admit it on your board if you just tell me how I make it stop!"

        Vanessa snickered again. "I can't believe someone you know is sitting right in front of you, crying their heart out, and you still don't know."

        One of the double doors behind Svet slowly opened up. Samara stood on the other side. Waiting for her.

        Leaning down to whisper in Svetlana's ear, Vanessa said, "You're dead too."

*****

        Jodie was wearing funeral black. She stood just inside the open double doors with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, waiting to walk down the middle aisle of the hall. The bouquet was made of videotape. Snaky black film formed bunches of dark flowers like some ominous craft project. Jodie looked to her right and saw two kids, one of them Samara, sitting and making these flowers. Samara's appearance was completely normal.

        "This is how you looked when you were alive," Jodie commented, examining the round face and shiny long hair. "You even had a little friend."

        The other child looked up from her crafts and smiled.

        Glancing around, Jodie asked the hall, "Who's going to give me away?"

        The funeral attendees turned to look at her, and all stood and began to applaud. Well, it didn't matter, then. Jodie began to walk down the aisle while she hummed the wedding march to herself. To her right, standing on the aisle was the extremely handsome blond from everyone's dreams whose name started with D. She didn't currently know his name was Dean Winchester, and that the man standing next to him was his father, John. But she would soon know. Dean smiled proudly as Jodie passed him, clapping along with the others. "You're going to be just fine," he assured her.

        To her left, Gunnar stood on the aisle. She had never seen him in a suit before; he looked amazing, with his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail. An attractive girl with dark brown hair stood next to him. She wore a black dress, lovely but somber. Gunnar pointed to her and mouthed, "Lisa."

        Ah, so this was the waitress.

        Jodie gazed down the aisle at the coffin. Quinn stood next to it, fingers gripping the sides of the open window in the top, his back to her. Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew it was Quinn. The coffin appeared to be empty.

        One of her mother's friends, a guy most often referred to by his last name, Hollister, approached her and offered Jodie his arm. "Sorry I'm late."

        She looked at the raised arm, gazed up at his face, and shook her head, passing him up. He voluntarily withdrew. When Jodie had almost reached Quinn, she silently tossed the bouquet over her shoulder, like a bride would do after a wedding. Lisa caught it, then looked at it with wide-eyed apprehension.

        To get his attention, Jodie placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. He turned around. God, she loved it when he smiled like that, so sunny and charming, and all for her. "Hey Jodes."

        "Hi Quinny." Her heart soared with love for him. Sometimes, Jodie thought she was over him, could finally let him go and watch him kiss other women without feeling that tightening ache in her heart. Then there were times like this, when he looked at her like that. She suddenly began to cry, throwing her arms around his neck. "Don't go, don't go, don't go..." Jodie sobbed.

        "Hey... I'm not going anywhere."

        "You promise?"

        "Of course. But when did I ever keep a promise?" he laughed. "I also promised never to hurt you."

        Jodie didn't want to think about those things. She wanted to kiss him, so she did, long and passionate. Quinn held her to him and kissed her like he'd never broken her heart. The crowd renewed their clapping; it grew louder, and some even cheered. Jodie never wanted to break that kiss because she knew what would happen once she did. But everything had to come to an end. "Quinn, please, stay with me. Even if you have to be with Svetlana or some other girl, just don't leave."

        "It's not my decision until I fulfill my end of the curse." He gently pulled her arms from around his neck. "And who would ever think it was that simple?" Quinn laughed again.

        "Please, Quinn - "

        He put a finger to her lips to shush her. "Jodie... I'm sorry. I really do love you. There's a piece of my heart that will always be reserved for you. But I have to go." Quinn started to climb into the coffin, but stopped to add, "I broke up with you because I just never thought I was good enough for you."

        Jodie grabbed his arm. "No, don't! You're perfect for me! Don't go!"

        He shook his head. "I would just hold you back." Climbing into the coffin, Quinn shut the lid.

        Jodie tried to pry it open. It would not budge. She sobbed uncontrollably. "Please, come back! I don't want to do this without you! DON'T GO!"

        Vanessa, standing at the head of the coffin, laughed at Jodie's frantic efforts. "You'll never get him out of there."

        Jodie recognized Vanessa too. "Why won't you help us? You know what's going to happen, don't you?"

        With a mischievous grin, Vanessa nodded. "None of you understand how important she is. She's more important than any of your friends' sorry lives."

        "What?" Jodie was stunned. "How can you say that?"

        The look on Vanessa's face was pure malice. "Because it's true. You have no clue just how much Samara can do. How much any of them can do." A giddy laugh escaped her. "They're so _cool_."

        Jodie slowly realized she was looking into the eyes of someone with no conscience. "You _feed_ people to her."

        Vanessa grinned again and replied, "I collect seventh days."

*****

        Darcy hadn't asked for any of this. It wasn't something she ever thought she'd be involved in when she read about it in the book. Her friendship with Svetlana had pulled her in, and she wouldn't turn away from her Christian duty.

        Darcy understood what Jodie had told her. Quinn had gotten a hold of some videotape that caused nightmares of anyone who watched it. It also appeared that the maker of the tape, a little girl who had been dead for more than 25 years, would begin stalking those people from the grave.

        Sounded like demon stuff to her.

        Darcy read a book on demonic possession once. The priest had suggested they study evil from the outside so they'd know it when they saw it. Scratching in the walls (that wasn't caused by animals) was a sign that someone in the house was demonically possessed. And Darcy knew it wasn't her.

        She wondered if watching the tape was a form of invitation to the demon, this demon who seemed to be named "Samara." Sort of like playing with a Ouija board, but in tape form.

        When Darcy saw the funeral scene, she crossed herself. The sound of someone crying to her right drew her attention. Svetlana sat on the floor at someone's feet, begging them to forgive her. But the person didn't seem to be able to hear her. A brunette Darcy didn't know stood nearby, snickering at the things Svet was saying.

        "Please forgive me. I think all this is punishment for how I treat you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't let me die!" Svetlana sobbed.

        Darcy went to her side and took hold of her shoulders, shaking her. "Svetlana, listen to me. You've got to come with me to my church. The priests will know how to help you. They'll know how to protect you from her."

        With renewed boisterousness, Vanessa threw her head back and laughed, eyes dancing merrily with mocking contempt. "Are you kidding me? Are you _fucking_ kidding me?! Are you actually suggesting that a bunch of _priests_ can stop Samara and the others? When this cycle has been in motion for _hundreds_ of years?"

        "Big deal!" Darcy yelled angrily. " _This_ cycle has been in motion for _thousands_ of years."

        Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. If religion could stop Samara, don't you think someone would've done it by now?"

        Trying to ignore her, Darcy pulled Svetlana to her feet. "Come with me, Svet. I know they can help you."

        Svetlana allowed herself to be almost dragged down the aisle; her feet shuffled across the floor with little motivation. "What's the point? I'm dead already. She going to kill me, Darce."

        "Don't say that! I'm going to help you."

        They both looked down the aisle toward the coffin and stopped to watch what was happening. Their dreams were beginning to bleed into each other.

*****

        Vanessa had migrated from the back of the hall to the front again. She and Quinn were currently grappling with the lid of the coffin; she was trying to shove his head into the opening and close it on him. In his dream, he was not yet in the casket, but standing before it.

        "Why won't you help us beat this curse? What's _wrong_ with you?!" Quinn cried. He didn't want to outright strike Vanessa because she was a girl. But she wouldn't stop grabbing him by the back of the neck or the hair and trying to shove his head into the coffin.

        "Just shut up and get in there, pretty boy! I'm getting a seventh day out of you if I have to let you _all_ die." Vanessa tried to shut the coffin lid on his head.

        Having had enough, Quinn shoved up on the lid and pushed her back at the same time, screaming, "Get the fuck off me, bitch!"

        Vanessa stumbled, almost fell, but ultimately regained her footing.

        Jodie, Svet, and Darcy ran up to Quinn at the same time. "I understand what you're after now, Vanessa," Quinn said, the three girls backing him up. "We don't need your help. We'll figure it out for ourselves."

        Vanessa had a comeback all ready for them, but nearby snickering stole her attention; she knew someone was laughing at _her_. She looked into the crowd of funeral attendees and saw Vicki there, next to some blond guy in a dark suit. Gasping, Vanessa realized that he was the man the Dutch girl kept drawing, the guy with the shotgun. For a fleeting moment, she thought how impressive Svetlana's talent was - the drawings looked just like him.

        Vicki and the guy were whispering to each other and plainly snickering at Vanessa. Plotting against her. She knew they were plotting against her.

        "What are you planning behind my back, you fat fuck?" Vanessa snarled through gritted teeth.

        Vicki gave her the kind of dismissive look that Vanessa thought _she_ had perfected, scoffed, and said quietly to Dean, "You see how paranoid she is?"

        He chuckled. "Maybe she has reason to be, hm?"

        Vicki laughed derisively.

        Vanessa was still glaring daggers at them when women in the crowd suddenly began to scream. They pointed to the stained glass windows lining the wall behind the coffin. Something huge slithered by, something that looked like a thick, giant snake.

        "Now you'll all be sorry!" Vanessa warned. "He's here. Their father is here!"

        The deep, booming roar of some kind of monstrous animal rattled the windows. This was followed by the sound of massive crashing waves coming toward the hall.

        Lisa began to scream hysterically.

        Everyone joined her as the stained glass windows shattered inward and the crushing force of the ocean rushed in to engulf them all.

        All four awakened with a scream of sudden terror. Svetlana didn't stop screaming as she thought of what Vanessa had whispered in her ear, and Jodie simply began to cry.

        Over 3,000 miles away, Vanessa awoke from her afternoon nap with a loud gasp, the sound of ocean surf and Vicki's laughter crashing in her ears.

*****

        A student at Boston Central High walked into what looked like a horror show when she casually strode into the last stall of the bathroom next to the west side stairs. The first thing she saw was blood smeared all over the floor on one side of the toilet. The girl recoiled from the sight.

        "Oh God, did someone get their period in here?!"

        Another girl smoking by the window gave a disinterested shrug. "I dunno. I heard some chick was, like, losing it in there earlier. Crying and talking to herself all hysterical. She probably did it." The smoking girl gestured toward the stall with a nod. "Look again. She wrote all kinds of weird shit on the walls."

        "Seriously?" Out of morbid curiosity, the student pushed open the door and gingerly stepped inside, avoiding the blood, so she could see what the smoking girl was talking about.

        Indeed, someone had written all over one of the walls with a red paint pen. She had unintentionally left more blood in smears here and there while confessing and pleading on the wall through anonymous graffiti.

please help me  
help me  
help me

LET ME GO YOU BITCHES!!!!

i can't escape

GOD PLEASE PLEASE help me

MAKE THEM LET ME GO

I don't want to HURT anyone

PLEASE STOP ME BEFORE THEY MAKE ME KILL AGAIN  
I don't know how to make them stop

He only has 4 days left

  
it won't stop


	15. Day 15: What Came Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jolene experiences a series of hallucinations of Samara and Anna and is taken on a journey back in time by a ghost to see how the ring began.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 15: What Came Before  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 15 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 5,224  
 **Summary:** Jolene experiences a series of hallucinations of Samara and Anna and is taken on a journey back in time by a ghost to see how the ring began.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter also contains mention of past and present drug use.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #15 Angry and Coclaim100 Prompt #15 First Time.  
 **Author's Notes:** Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.

  
        Jolene hated Mondays.

        They were even worse when she came home from the office to find her apartment full of unfamiliar furniture.

        It was placed randomly around the home... a chair here, a china cabinet there, all of it stuff that Jolene had never seen before. When she tried to touch the items, her hand passed through them. Hallucinations. Now she was hallucinating _furniture_.

        "At least the fly made some sense," Jolene said to the open air, in case Samara was listening. "Now you're giving me chairs I can't sit in."

        Seeing furniture that wasn't really there... that called for a drink. Jolene poured herself some Peppermint Schnapps and drank large gulps of it while cooking stir fry chicken for her dinner. She had almost finished preparing it when she realized she wasn't alone at the stove. Jolene nearly jumped out of her skin, hopping away from the woman she saw out of the corner of her eye and letting out a surprised cry. Anna Morgan stood there, making dinner for her family, completely unaware of Jolene's presence. It was like what happened at the office, with the scene in the Morgan barn. Jolene was merely witnessing something that happened in the past.

        Samara stood nearby, just staring at her mother while she cooked. Jolene spoke directly to her. "Hey kid, why do you keep sticking your house in mine? Do you really think I care about all this crap?"

        Just as this was a vision of the past, it was also a hallucination. Samara turned her head and looked right at Jolene with impatient, narrowed eyes, like she was dealing with a bothersome insect. Jolene blinked and took an unsure step back.

        "Honey, why don't you sit and draw while Mommy makes dinner?" Anna asked.

        Happy for the distraction, Jolene looked at the woman, examining her body language. It obviously made Anna uncomfortable to have Samara stand there and stare at her like that.

        Samara couldn't have been older than six or seven. She replied, "I'm fine, Mommy."

        "But you can't be happy just standing there watching me cook. Isn't it boring?" Anna made a funny face, imitating the discomfort Samara was supposed to be feeling while stirring whatever was in the pot of food she was tending.

        Samara walked over and hugged Anna around the waist. "I could never get bored watching you. I love spending time with you, Mommy."

        A myriad of emotions and reactions passed over Anna's face in the span of only a few seconds. She had no idea if she should be touched or repulsed by the child's devotion. Finally, she stroked Samara's hair awkwardly, then more lovingly. Jolene surmised that Anna reacted this way after years of dealing with the child's strange psychic powers. A child like that could be a strain on a mother's love.

        Jolene smiled a little in spite of herself. Samara could be cute when she wasn't being a horrid brat.

        The hugging twosome faded away. Jolene breathed a sigh of relief before going back to her cooking.

        Although she hoped that was all for Monday's hallucinations, Jolene knew it was too good to be true. She had no idea how much she'd wish for the simplicity of Anna and Samara hugging in her kitchen when this next one crossed her path.

        Jolene was walking from the hall to the living room when she encountered Anna standing at the phantom china cabinet. Knowing there was nothing she could do to stop the vision, she stepped back to watch what would happen. Samara stood nearby, again staring at what Anna was doing. Two shelves in the cabinet were lined with figurines of all types: crystal, porcelain, resin, glass... there were little children, animals, lighthouses, bells, seashells, horses, miniature dolls... all sorts of beautiful things. Anna was dusting them carefully, one by one. The pride and delight on her face at just handling these lovely treasures was obvious.

        "Mommy," Samara began, looking from the crystal unicorn in her mother's hand to her face, "can I play with them?"

        Jolene knew how this was going to go. The child couldn't have been more than five here, her black hair in braids. "Be strong, woman. All us mothers have been through this."

        As she expected, Anna shook her head. "Honey, we've discussed this before. These are Mommy's figurines. They're very breakable and not for playing with."

        Samara pouted. "But they're so bootafull."

        That was almost cute. Jolene grinned.

        "I know they are. That's why I don't want them to get broken."

        "Good save," commented Jolene. She tried to sit on the arm of one of the Morgan's hallucinatory chairs, stumbled, and regained her footing before she fell.

        "I'll be careful," Samara promised.

        "I know you will, but accidents do happen," Anna replied, and put the unicorn back in the cabinet. She closed the left door and sighed with satisfaction. "Just stand here with Mommy and let's look at them, okay? It's fun just to look at how beautiful they are and not to touch."

        Samara obviously thought it would be much more fun to touch them, but she said nothing, and moved to her mother's side. Anna put an arm around her shoulder, stroking one of her braids. They looked at the figurines together. Anna's proud smile spoke of how long it had taken her to gather this collection... years of searching in little curio shops and looking through catalogs, sending away to the Hamilton Collection and Franklin Mint; it all added up to one major labor of love.

        The figurines had been placed carefully, facing out or angled slightly in the most attractive arrangement. Samara stared at them, concentrating, and every one of them suddenly turned around, facing backward, in the span of a second. They made a loud scraping sound in unison as they did. Anna and Jolene both jumped in surprise.

        Putting a hand to her heart, Anna surmised what had happened. Samara giggled. Anna looked down at her and quickly made the decision not to take this badly. After all, she knew what Samara _could_ have done to those figurines if she'd gotten it in her head to do so. "Samara!" Anna said scoldingly. The child giggled again.

        The mood changed abruptly when a hooded figure in white dashed past the doorway that led into the hall. Anna, with a gasp, picked up Samara and clutched her protectively to her chest.

        Jolene jumped back and almost went for the phone. "Holy shit!" At first, she wasn't sure if the person was in her home or Anna's, but quickly remembered that Anna would not have reacted to the figure if she had been in Jolene's apartment. She relaxed a bit and watched what would happen next. It occurred to her that this event had to have happened when Samara was still fairly young, but not too young, because Anna's reactions told Jolene that the woman knew of Samara's psychokinesis, but had not yet grown weary of it. After all, she was still protecting the child instead of _murdering_ her.

        Anna turned to run, but the figure rounded the corner and called to her in a whispering tone. "Anna."

        Jolene took in the woman's appearance. Long white lace dress and a lace hood covering her black hair, which nearly reached her waist. The woman never raised her head during the entire conversation, so Jolene could not get a good look at her face. Not then. Also, she was plainly no ordinary woman, as she had no feet; her legs faded into a white mist near the floor.

        "What are you, a ghost?" Jolene asked, not expecting an answer.

        The woman did not give her one, although she did briefly turn her head in Jolene's direction, as if she was looking at her.

        "Not you too," Jolene mumbled.

        Anna stopped to look at the woman, but kept her distance. She still clutched Samara tightly. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

        The ghost replied, "Do not be afraid, Anna. You have been chosen for a very important job. I am here to make sure you understand your role in this."

        Anna seemed poised between running and staying to find out what this was all about. "How do you know my name?"

        "We know you because you are Samara's mommy. Evelyn couldn't handle it, so the responsibility has fallen to you." The ghost noticed that Anna was inching toward the front door. She glided closer. Jolene shuddered at how creepy that was, the way she moved by floating across the floor. "This is not the first time you have seen your daughter perform such a feat, is it?" The ghost gestured to the china cabinet. "You know what Samara can do."

        Anna nodded. "Moving things with her mind?"

        "Yes."

        "And the pictures? The pictures she can put in your head?"

        "Yes, Anna. Those are very special abilities. You know that, don't you?"

        "Not everyone can do those things," Anna replied.

        "No, they can't. A girl like her is very precious. You must give her all of your love, and protect her at any cost. You wouldn't want to make a girl who can do such things angry. Do you understand?" asked the ghost.

        This last comment made Anna feel threatened; Jolene could tell by the reaction on her face. "I understand. Now I want you to leave my home."

        The ghost raised her head slightly. "I have one more thing to show you first. You must understand what came before Samara. She is not the first of her kind."

        "Her _kind?_ "

        The room began to change. Walls gave way to a bushy cliff overlooking the sea. Anna looked all around her, growing frantic. "What's happening? Where... my house... where are we?!" She realized her entire house was disappearing into this rocky hill, and found herself completely unwilling to go with it. Crying out in fear, Anna took Samara and ran out the front door with her, the hallucination following her the whole way until there was nothing but bushes, rock, and sea.

        Jolene just stood in one place, awestruck, so caught up in what was happening that she didn't even realize that _her_ home had disappeared too. The hallucinations always stopped eventually and everything went back to normal... for a fleeting second, Jolene had the horrible thought that maybe that wouldn't happen this time, and she'd be lost here forever.

        "Where am I?" Jolene asked.

        The ghost turned. "All of this was meant for Mrs. Morgan, but she was very resistant to learning what we offered about Samara. It frightened her. All we want is to be heard." She tilted her head slightly. "Will you listen?"

        Jolene stammered, "I... I don't know, I... what does any of this have to do with me?"

        "Everything." She began to float away, down the hill. "You watched Samara's tape. Now you must learn."

        "Hey, what if I don't want to? Did you ever consider that?" Jolene called after her. She didn't have time to wonder what was going to happen next because she soon heard the sound of many hooves clopping along the rock, coming toward her.

        The first to come up over the ridge was a woman and a child sitting on the back of a mule. It was her, the ghost, only very much alive, at least in the hallucination. The child had the same long black hair and a similar white dress. They moved on past Jolene a few feet before three men on horseback caught up with them. The men wore some type of military uniform and their horses were large and powerful, the kind of horses most useful to an army.

        "You there! You're supposed to dismount when we pass," one of the soldiers said.

        Jolene could hear the man speaking in a foreign language, but she could also hear his voice translating his words into English in her head. "Hey, that's handy... it's like I got one of those fish from _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ in my ear. My daughter loves that book." Remembering that no one could hear her, she shut her mouth and watched.

        The woman turned her head away from the soldiers to make a secret face of contempt, then put on a polite expression with which to greet them. "Yes, I know. Come along, Sasha." After stopping the mule, she helped her daughter off its back while stepping down herself. "There."

        One of the bolder men dismounted and addressed her with a smirk. "Ah, little Sasha, is it? We know who you are, Mrs. Alexandra Baptiste. Isn't your daughter the one who's been making all those prophecies?" He took Sasha's chin in his hand and smiled down at her.

        "I suppose you could call it that." Alexandra, without a word of warning, gave the man's hand a curt shove so he would let go of Sasha's chin.

        His brow furrowed in anger. "Do I have to remind you that you are to treat us with respect, Mrs. Baptiste? This isn't the first time that you've given soldiers of the Ottoman Empire trouble. Your stature in the community cannot protect you forever. There's talk in the village about your paintings and Sasha's visions."

        "Oh? And what do they say about us?" Alexandra asked defiantly.

        "There's talk of _witchcraft_ ," the soldier, who was named Nicholas, replied. "All of your family's money cannot protect you if you're practicing the black arts."

        "That will be enough," another soldier said. He seemed to be higher in rank or just a better leader, because Nicholas backed down. "Let's head out."

        Sasha suddenly spoke up, her eyes wide. "You will die in seven days," she said to the soldier who'd touched her.

        The other soldiers laughed; they didn't take it seriously. Nicholas shifted uneasily, and tried to make a joke out of it too. "Uh, sure, little one. You're the prophetess." He eyed Sasha with trepidation until he had mounted his horse and ridden off.

        Alexandra knelt down and took Sasha by the shoulders. "What did you see, child?"

        "He will get the plague," Sasha answered. Her voice broke with fear and regret. "The black death. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."

        "Then we must stay away from the village," her mother declared. They mounted the mule again. "Black death can sweep through a town like a tidal wave."

        As they rode down the side of the hill, the scene changed. Jolene screamed as the ground shifted and disappeared underneath her, not knowing it would rapidly be replaced by more level land. It was one of the weirdest things she'd ever felt, at once standing on solid ground but also feeling the earth shift under her feet. The hallucinations were so real, one could not tell where they ended and reality began. "You could warn a person when you're going to do that!" Jolene called.

        The rocky cliff metamorphosised into a small fishing village. The colors ran and bled until they formed themselves into the quaint cottages made of stone. Jolene thought the world was melting.

        The little girl, Sasha, ran into a clearing where children were playing a game of ball. She was crying.

        Another little girl was astonished when Sasha hugged her, sobbing in anguish. "Sasha, what's the matter? I haven't seen you in the village for at least a week."

        Sasha could hardly speak, she was so inconsolable. "I had a vision of you, Demetra. You... you're..."

        "What?"

        Before she could answer, one of the soldiers headed over to grab Sasha by the arm and drag her away from the other child. "You'll not be touching any more of the villagers."

        Alexandra came running after Sasha, finally catching up. "Let her go! What's the meaning of this?"

        The soldier shook Sasha's arm and squeezed it hard as he spoke. "You remember what your daughter said to that soldier last week?"

        "Yes..." she replied suspiciously. Alexandra smelled an ambush.

        "He's _dead_. Died exactly a week after she said he would. 'You will die in seven days' she said."

        "Yes. He died of the plague, didn't he?"

        A bit of surprise colored the soldier's face. "Then you admit it."

        Alexandra cocked her head. "Admit what?"

        The soldier turned to the crowd of people in the marketplace, most of whom were now curiously watching the exchange. "Mrs. Baptiste and her daughter have been practicing witchcraft," he announced.

        Villagers gasped.

        Alexandra was obviously shocked by the accusation. Her shock turned to outrage. "You fool!" She tried to help Sasha escape the man's grasp; he was plainly hurting her arm. "Sasha has visions of the future. She's merely reporting what she sees."

        "Did she or did she not tell Nicholas Petalas that he would die in seven days?" the accuser asked.

        "She did, but - "

        "Then it's possible that she _caused_ his death."

        Alexandra's mouth hung open in renewed shock. "No! It's not possible!"

        "Then _you_ must've done it, and used her as your conduit. You cursed him through your daughter. She _touched_ him, and said he would die. And he did," recounted the soldier.

        Villagers gasped again, some protectively grabbing their children.

        "No! _He_ touched _her_!" Alexandra protested.

        "Mommy, he's hurting me," Sasha cried.

        "Oh? Well, if your daughter is so innocent, then what was she about to tell Demetra? Hm?" The soldier whirled Sasha around to face him. "What were you about to tell her, child?"

        Fearfully, Sasha mumbled her answer.

        "What was that?"

        "I said I was about to tell her that she's going to die in four days," the child replied.

        Demetra cried out in betrayal. "Sasha, you would curse me, your best friend?!"

        "No! No, I don't curse anyone!" Sasha fought to escape the soldier's hold. "I can see the future. I just see what's already going to happen!"

        "Why don't we let the authorities decide on that?" The soldier signaled to some other officers. "Take Mrs. Baptiste and her daughter into custody on a charge of practicing witchcraft with intent to cause harm to others."

        "No! It's a lie!" Alexandra wrestled with the soldiers tenaciously.

        Demetra began to cry. "She touched me. Sasha cursed me!" She picked up a rock and threw it at Sasha.

        No one was being mindful of the thrown item; the soldiers and their prisoners were struggling and yelling. The rock struck Sasha squarely in the middle of her face. She squealed in pain. Blood gushed out of her nose.

        Jolene cringed. "Poor kid."

        As Alexandra and Sasha were dragged away, the scene changed again. Jolene's location was simply shifted further down the beach, closer to the water. She looked out over the surf, not really knowing what sea she was looking at, and wondered when this hallucination was going to end.

        Several villagers screamed and ran away from the main road of town. Jolene almost immediately saw why. Alexandra walked toward the water with a bundle in a blanket in her arms. The look on her face was devastated, anguished, furious. People ran from her because they were afraid of what she would do to them.

        When she got closer to the sea, and closer to where Jolene stood, Alexandra looked up and began to speak. "Do you see what they've done to our daughter?" She moved part of the blanket aside to reveal that Sasha was the bundle. She was dead. Jolene covered her mouth with her hands and coughed, gagging on her horror. The child had obviously been dead for days, with dried blood under her nose and marks all over her face. "They killed her."

        The sea churned without an answer, at least not any that Jolene could hear.

        "They're going to come for me soon. I couldn't take them all out; there are always more soldiers. We can get them before they take me away. Get them where they live."

        Was Jolene going crazy, or did she hear an answer? There came the roar of a beast from somewhere out in the sea, something she had never quite heard before. The roar was deep and booming, and almost got lost in the sound of the surf. Like the sea was talking back. But Jolene knew it wasn't the surf talking - there was something out there.

        Alexandra fell to her knees in the sand. "Yes. That'll do it. That will begin our punishment of them for what they did to our child." She laughed bitterly. "Let me help you."

        Jolene watched as her eyes glowed with sea green light. This was followed by frightening sounds coming from the village behind them.

        People screamed. Jolene expected that; the woman was obviously going to do something awful to the people for killing her child. But she didn't expect the horrible sound of animals screaming. Scared, frantic, panicking animals. She couldn't tell what kind of animal she was hearing, although she could have made a few guesses, until the horses came running over the hill and down the beach.

        Their eyes were wild. Horses, powerful soldier's horses, of all colors, running without purpose, just trying to escape whatever Alexandra and the beast in the sea were doing to them. Jolene thought that they must be attacking the horses mentally, with those same strange powers that Samara possessed. Then this is where Samara came from. The sea beast, the bride... the child.

        The horses came running toward them. Toward the sea. Jolene realized there was a purpose to where the horses were going as they thundered past her and into the surf, letting out horrified, screaming neighs. They were killing the horses. The army would be crippled without their horses.

        Alexandra began to laugh maniacally and scream at the same time. "All you wanted was a child to be your legacy on land. They couldn't let you have that. They can't see your glory like I can. Soon, they'll kill me too. But there will be more daughters for you, Heptamera. And they will suffer just like my Sasha suffered until people evolve enough to understand what you can do. The gifts you offer. Until people understand, they will hurt just like your daughters. That is my curse upon them for murdering our child. As long as your girls suffer, everyone will suffer." She let out a loud, insane laugh. "Everyone will suffer!"

        Now there were so many horses coming that Jolene couldn't count them anymore. Tens, maybe a hundred, all galloping past her, throwing up sand, screaming. The wind of their passing whipped at her face and clothes. They ran into the water and eventually disappeared into the waves. One horse went by with a soldier still clinging to its reigns, being dragged along, yelling for it to stop.

        The hallucination became so intense and real that Jolene began to scream. She thought the horses would surely trample her, they were coming so close. One came within inches of her, a large, powerful horse that nearly shook the ground as it galloped past, and Jolene threw her hands over her face and tried to make herself smaller. "The horses are going to trample me! Send me back home!" she begged Alexandra. "Please, send me back to my own time!"

        The woman did not acknowledge her.

        Two horses ran by Jolene on both sides. She knew there wasn't enough room for her between them. Covering her face with her arms, all she could do was scream. The horses did not crush her. Even though it was easy to forget that it was so, this was just a hallucination, so Jolene passed through the horses as they rushed past. But she still felt their wind. The wind knocked her down. She could feel the sand under her bare arms. Before Jolene could get up, another horse trampled her, making her scream again. She watched the horse's hoof come down into her stomach and just pass right through like a phantom, felt the sand under her move with its foot. She was really there, but not there. Jolene screamed to be released as she fought to get to her feet.

        A gigantic wave rolled toward the beach. The sea beast let out a final roar that could be nothing but grief, it sounded so lonely and anguished. Jolene realized that the wave was big enough to swallow the woman, the child, and her.

        "EVERYONE WILL SUFFER!!" Alexandra screamed one last time.

        Jolene heard the water shifting and rolling upon itself like a living thing. The sea was alive. It came for her with a vengeance that would not stop. A twenty-foot wave, it towered over her. "No! No! Noooooooooooooo!!"

        The wave crashed over them all. Feebly, Jolene threw her arms over her face again and screamed with all her might. She felt her body shoved to the ground; water filled her mouth and the sand underneath her shifted and pulled her closer to the sea. She was going to drown in its power.

        And then it was over.

        Jolene suddenly had handfuls of carpet instead of sand. She opened her eyes. The beach was just gone. The horses, gone. The woman and her dead child, gone. Every remnant of the Morgan household, back to where it came from. The hallucination had simply just departed as quickly and suddenly as it had come.

        Except for the parting gifts. Jolene turned over on her side and spit up seawater, coughing and gagging on it. The undersides of her arms were covered in sand. But that was all. Her clothes weren't even wet.

        Slowly, Jolene came to the realization that it was over. But she still burst into tears. Terrified that something else would happen, she crawled frantically over to the phone and dragged it down off the table. Her hands were shaking as she dialed a number.

        Her voice sounded absolutely hysterical when she sobbed into the phone, "Hollister? Can you come over here? Please, please come over, I need you! .... It's Jolene. ..... I can't calm down! Please just come over here, okay? Don't let them take me away again! Please hurry!"

*****

        "...And this is where I saw the china cabinet," Jolene was saying as she rounded the corner into her living room.

        She was followed by a large, intimidating biker named Daniel Hollister. Anyone could tell he didn't belong in mundane society by the leather jacket with a flaming dragon painted on the back, the ratty jeans, the muddy biker boots, the fingers lined with silver skull rings, and the hair cut into a tall mohawk. The mohawk wasn't currently up, though, his dark hair hanging down one side of his head. The chain that attached his wallet to his jeans jingled as he walked; it was a constant sound when he moved. Hollister regarded the place where the china cabinet had been with a small nod.

        "So, you believe all this stuff is real?" he asked in his deep, smoky voice.

        "Shit yeah. I saw it. How much more real can it get?"

        Hollister didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at her. Then he said, "You got any beer?"

        Once they were seated in the living room, each with a bottle of Miller (regular for him, Light for her), he started asking all the standard questions one asked when one heard his on-off girlfriend had been seeing things. "You take any drugs lately?"

        Jolene had expected this. "No. Not for a couple months."

        "You know that acid repeats on ya."

        "I haven't done any acid since the late 70's. You'll remember it; you were there."

        "Huh." Hollister remembered, and grinned a little. "You were going, 'Ooooh, the colors, Danny. They're so beautifuuuuuul.'"

        Rolling her eyes, Jolene kicked his foot. "I remember."

        He took another swig of the beer. "Didn't you say you hit your head when you fell a couple days ago?"

        Jolene tried to be patient. "Yeah, but I was having these hallucinations before I hit my head too."

        "Huh." Hollister thought about it some more. "What'd you have a couple months ago?"

        "Smoked some pot."

        "Oh." He was quiet for a moment. "Got any left?"

        Laughing, Jolene shook her head. "Keep your mind on what we're talking about, will you?"

        "But you really don't have any left?"

        Jolene rolled her eyes again with a sigh. "I might have a little."

        "Well, if I'm spending the night, you know I sleep better after a nice fat joint. Let's roll one up, woman." Hollister slapped her knee. "And you can tell me more about these ghosts."

        "Alright. I might even have some Doritos for when you get the munchies later." Jolene got up and went to retrieve the canister on top of the bookcase. It held what was left of her stash of pot.

        "So all these hallucinations and ghosts and shit are connected to the videotape you showed at my party Thursday night?"

        "Yeah." She came back over with the canister in her hand.

        "I'm almost sorry I missed it, then. I was in the kitchen while it was on," he reminded her.

        "Oh, yeah. What were you doing in there?"

        With a grin, Hollister replied, "Makin' hors d'oeuvres."

        Jolene laughed heartily. "You nut." She grew quiet for several moments, just looking at him. "Thanks for staying over. I don't think I could sleep alone tonight without the fucking light on unless you were here."

        He gave her a little salute. "No problem, baby. We go way back."

  
 **More Author's Notes:** The idea of people mistaking Sasha's visions of the future for something much more sinister was taken from the Japanese movie _One Missed Call 2_.  
The scene where Anna and Samara admire the figurines in the china cabinet and some of the things that happen afterward (including the spooky figure running by the doorway) come from a dream I once had.

  
it won't stop


	16. Day 16: Self-Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam begins researching to figure out the identity of the artist in his nightmare. He gets help from an unexpected source.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 16: Self-Portrait  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 16 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,971  
 **Summary:** Sam begins researching to figure out the identity of the artist in his nightmare. He gets help from an unexpected source.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #16 Evil and Coclaim100 Prompt #16 Books.  
 **Author's Notes:** Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.  
 **Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural."** Set pre-series. To my knowledge, they never mentioned what Jessica's major was, so I gave her one.

  
        Sam Winchester didn't hunt anymore.

        So why was he currently in the Stanford library looking through books on Greek mythology, trying to find the meaning of the name Heptamera?

        Sam wanted to be spiteful. He wanted to say " _Screw him_ ," and just let his father fend for himself. After all, isn't that what he'd done to Sam? It wasn't like John Winchester wasn't a badass in his own right; he could handle this case just like any other.

        But Dean... Sam was afraid for Dean.

        The dream he'd had made him feel as if his brother could be a real target here for reasons he did not fully understand yet.

        Leaving Dean out there with no advance knowledge of the case, defenseless... well, his heart wasn't in it. Sam could thumb his nose at his father, but he couldn't allow Dean to be hurt in the fight against the latest evil being. Dean needed a leg up.

        So far, Sam had found only one small blurb in a book about ancient Greek monsters. Heptamera, the Daemon of Seven Days, Guardian of the Mediterranean Sea. A _daemon_... not even a demon. A creature that _pre-dated_ demons. Daemons were considered intermediaries between gods and man. Sam wondered for a brief moment if his _dad_ could even handle this one. Would he and Dean have to take the thing on, or just his "bride," as the woman had called herself? Seems the daemon demanded tribute from the villagers of various Greek isles every seven days or he'd wreak a terrible wrath upon them. It was rumored that Heptamera raped comely young women who ventured too far into his waters. Some hybrid children may have been born.

        Well, Sam could pretty much call this more than a myth with some conviction...

        Then it hit him. Was there a connection between the girls who had spoken to him through the television and the other dream that he'd had, of Heptamera's bride? If she was the bride... were these "sisters" Heptamera's children?

        A hand being smacked down on the table startled Sam out of his thoughts. A friend of his from one of his English classes snickered at him. "Did I scare ya?"

        "Hey, Henry. Yeah, a little." He may have been given an English name, but Henry was Chinese. Sam wondered if he'd be able to help. "You know an Asian language or two, don't you?"

        "Yeah. Do you need to know something?" Henry looked at the books spread out before Sam on the table. "Studying a lot of books, huh? You're always doing that," he said with amusement.

        "I just like to learn new things." Sam took a piece of paper from his pocket. On it, he'd written the foreign phrase one of the sisters had uttered, to the best of his recollection. "I heard a phrase in a movie the other night in some language I don't know. They didn't subtitle it, and it's been driving me crazy."

        "What did it sound like?"

        "Asian."

        Henry let out a small laugh and sat down next to Sam. "There are a lot of Asian languages, Sam."

        "I know, but I don't know any," he said with a grin. "I would guess it was Japanese. Sounded something like the Japanese I've heard in the past."

        "What's the phrase?"

        Jessica Moore hadn't seen Sam Winchester since the Christmas party. Now, there he was, sitting at a table with another student, chatting about languages. She wanted to go over and say hi, but needed it to sound casual, like she hadn't been thinking about him as much as she had. Especially on the days when she and Craig fought. Sam was one of the biggest guys Jessica had ever known, but remarkably, he sometimes looked so small in those hoodies and layers of shirts he always wore. Often, she wondered if he was trying to hide from something.

        Sam was now saying, "Shi... kata... nai ga... something..." and Jessica stepped a little closer to better hear their conversation.

        "Shikata ga nai ne?" Henry said questioningly.

        "Yeah, I think that was it. What's it mean?"

        "It's basically the Japanese equivalent of the phrase, 'So be it.' If that's the way you want it, it can't be helped. Like a verbal shrug," explained Henry.

        "Ohhh..." Sitting back, Sam sighed. It made sense. Sam wouldn't do what the Heptamera girls told him to, so they wrote him off and left him with the consequences. 'If that's the way you want it. So be it.' At least, the one who spoke Japanese felt that way toward him.

        "Does that make sense?" Henry asked.

        Sam nodded. "Yeah, it does. Thanks."

        "I wish I knew more Japanese. All I know is 'arigato.'"

        Sam and Henry both looked up. The expression of pure delight that came to Sam's face made Jessica's heart leap. He was happy to see her! He was practically _ecstatic_ to see her. A few seconds later, Sam tried to dial down the over-bright smile she had brought out of him, but he didn't hide it completely. "Well, hi, Jessica! I haven't seen you in a while."

        Jessica grinned back, tossing her long hair over one shoulder.

        Henry looked from one person to the other. They were practically beating him over the head with the fact that they were attracted to each other, with all the "oh my God it's YOU!" smiles and enthusiastic greetings. Henry smirked. "Hey Jessica."

        Jessica slid into a seat at the end of the table, a few chairs away from Sam. Not a good idea to be too overeager. She dumped her books on the table in front of her and flashed Sam a flirtatious smile.

        How could he resist such a beautiful face... "As long as you're here, Jess, maybe you'll be able to help me with something else..."

        "Try me." She was just happy to have an excuse to stay.

        "I heard that Japanese in a movie I watched the other night. It was, you know, sort of an artsy movie..."

        "What was it called?"

        "Um... I'll have to get back to you on that one." Sam laughed lightly. He couldn't tell her the whole truth.

        Jessica just enjoyed listening to his cute laugh.

        Sam continued. "Anyway, there were these two images they used throughout the movie that I know I've seen somewhere before, but I can't for the life of me pinpoint where. They reminded me of oil paintings."

        "Oil paintings of what?" Jessica questioned.

        "Paintings? Oh God, _art_." Henry leaned his head back on his chair, closed his eyes, and pretended to snore.

        "Just ignore him," she joked, although she meant it. The only thing better than hanging out with your crush was having a deep conversation with him. "Paintings of what?"

        "Two women. I thought you might recognize them because we had that Art History class together last semester. Isn't that your major?"

        He remembered! Jessica nodded with a knowing grin.

        "The first image was of a dark-haired woman brushing her hair in an oval mirror. And the second was a girl with blond hair riding a black horse across a beach on an overcast day," Sam said, describing the two images that had flashed across his television while he spoke with the sisters.

        Instant recognition in her eyes, Jessica knew that she'd be able to help Sam solve his quandary. She said, "I think I've seen these paintings before," and excitedly flipped to the back of one of her Art History textbooks.

        Henry watched silently, amused with how much they liked each other, but how reluctant they were to admit it. After all, Jessica was _supposed_ to still be with Craig.

        Jessica found the artist's name she'd been searching for in the index, then fanned through the pages to that chapter. "Here," she said, and pointed to a two-page section. "Alexandra Baptiste."

        There was the dark-haired woman brushing her hair in a painting entitled _The Mirror in the Hall_. The oval mirror was off-center, far to the right side. "That's it," he confirmed. "Alexandra Baptiste?"

        "Yes. She's not a well-known artist, but she did enjoy some popularity in the late 1700's. A Greek woman who lived during the time of the occupation of the Ottoman Empire." Flipping the page, Jessica showed him a few more of the paintings reproduced in the book. One was of a blond girl riding a black horse across a beach, but from further away than Sam had seen her on the TV. In the foreground, the artist had painted part of another girl's arm and side; her fist was balled up in what could be assumed was anger or tension. She seemed to be watching the girl ride by on the horse, and was much closer to the viewer. This one was titled _One Regret._

        "She was Greek, huh?" Sam tried not to show how much this disturbed him, that this artist was probably the woman in his dream. He looked over some of the other paintings. "What else do you know about her?" Sam asked Jessica.

        With a small shrug, she replied, "Not a lot. I read the chapter a while ago, but only so much sticks in your head. She was one of the most notable Greek artists of that time period, especially since she was a woman. This is only a couple pages on Baptiste; to tell you more, I'd have to get a book on just her. I seem to remember that she was considered quite eccentric. Like Dali, except spooky-eccentric." Jessica wiggled her upright fingers and imitated a Theremin. "Ooooh-weeeee-oooooh."

        "How so?" asked Sam with dread. He thought he knew why.

        "There's a little bit here about it." Jessica, pointing it out in the book, continued, "Baptiste claimed that she got the subjects of her paintings by entering into a deep hypnotic rapport with a spiritual being from the sea. Isn't that wild?"

        Henry scoffed and said, "Methinks Alexandra was partaking of the funny little papers a little too much."

        "Yeah." Sam tried to laugh it off, so it wouldn't seem like he believed it.

        Playing a little bit of matchmaker, Henry casually threw in, "Well, you really saved Sam today, huh Jessica? It's like you two are perfect for each other." He took a dramatic pause. "I mean, it's like you came along at the perfect time."

        Jessica fell silent, blushing furiously. She glared at her mischievous "helper."

        Sam would have reacted, but he was too focused on the book. On the second page, he saw a painting that didn't surprise him much - it was the woman from his dream. Her lace cloak covered her head. Long black hair cascaded out from under it on either side of her face, on which she wore a menacing smile. She seemed to be gazing out of the painting.

        Sam had expected this.

        Looking over his shoulder, Henry shuddered at the woman's gaze. "It's like her eyes follow you," he commented.

        The painting was entitled, _Self-Portrait_.

*****

        A tiny smile remained on Sam's lips for the rest of the afternoon despite the fact that he wouldn't let himself rely on Jessica's word that she would be back. She'd said she was going to go ask one of her professors for a recommendation of books about Alexandra Baptiste and then would meet him at his dorm room sometime around five. It was almost 5:00 now.

        Sam wondered if she really meant it, if Jessica was sincerely interested in him or just the weird artist they were researching. He'd gotten the impression that she really liked him, and might be using this research thing as a way to spend some time with him. That was fine with Sam.

        Being stalked by a long-dead ghost? Not fine.

        He was tempted to line the door and window with salt. Ultimately, Sam decided against it. Not only would Gerald find it mighty strange, but Sam wanted to gain as much information about this ghost as he could. Keeping her and the "sisters" out would only limit his knowledge of them. They seemed to be in a gabby mood. If Sam could get them to talk about themselves, the things he learned might be useful.

         _Careful there, Sammy. Someone might think you're hunting._

        No. No, he wasn't a hunter anymore. He was just trying to help Dean. That was all.

        Speaking of...

        Sam checked his e-mail while he waited for some word from Jessica. There was an e-mail from Dean. His older brother's e-mails were few and far between for two reasons. One, Dean had no computer. He sent and read e-mails from the libraries that he and his father passed through while researching local legends and history. Two, Dean would never be considered a computer expert. He knew how to read e-mail, play games, surf for porn, and get into dating chat rooms, but those formed the extent of his computer knowledge.

        There wasn't much point to answering the e-mail; Dean probably wouldn't be able to read it for weeks. Whatever Sam found out about the ghosts making contact with him, he'd have to figure out some other way to get it to Dean.

        He grinned a bit wider when he read the e-mail.

 _"My Most Honorable Brudder Samuel Stikupdabutt,_

 _Greetings! Please to read message from most handsome and desireable brother-type, Sir Dean the Great. Okay, then just read this e-mail from the coolest sib ever? Great! (Don't tell me I'm neither.)_

 _How are things going over there? Dad and I are fine, though you did miss the weekend from hell. And you know I might just mean that literally. Long story. It's always a long story. Finer points: Dad and I battled a really badass creature that I can't remember how to spell. I'm not even going to try 'cause I know how you'll correct my spelling and send it back to me since you're such a GEEK. Anyway, it ran out in front of Dad's truck while he was in hot pursuit and he almost hit it. Could have totalled the truck and everything. It was like some really twisted episode of "Starsky and Hutch."_

 _How is Stanford? Still in California? Dude, what is wrong with all the other states? You used to visit them all the time with Dad and me instead of staying in one place. You really like that? I could never sit still that long. But you know that. Okay, don't make me say it, man. Just know that Dad promised he'll buy you that pony you've been begging for for years if you come back. He told me. <\--- lies, all lies!_

 _I've atached a picture I took with my new digital camera. It's of Dad, Bobby, and me. Incase you've been away so long you've forgotten who everybody is, Dad's in the blue shirt, Bobby's the one in the middle, and I'm on the right. Who is that handsome devil? I never would have been able to figure out how to get the picture to you if it hadn't been for the help of a verrry cute blonde at a Walgreens in Virginia Beach. Her picture's attached too. She's wearing the Walgreens shirt and not much else. It's true, I'm evil._

 _Mail me back sometime and let me know how it's hanging._

 _Your favorite and, coincidentally, only brother,_

 _Dean"_

        Sam wanted to get mad over how many times Dean had tried to make him feel guilty for not being there, but he couldn't. The underlying message of _I miss you_ touched his heart too much to get angry. He wanted to say _I miss you too_ every time he found a typing mistake, an egotistical joke, or more conclusive evidence of his brother's obsession with electronic toys he didn't really need. It all added up to what made Dean _Dean_. The fact that he had to be a casualty of Sam's newfound independence brought tears to his eyes.

        Virginia Beach. That could mean that they weren't in Boston, like the ghosts said they were.

         _The ghosts said they were **headed** to Boston this weekend, Sammy. Dad and Dean aren't there yet. You're looking for an excuse to get out of this before it starts._

        Sometimes, Sam would give anything to shut up his conscience.

  
it won't stop


	17. Day 17: Double-sided Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good to her word, Jessica brings over some books about the artist from Sam's nightmare. There is something obviously supernatural about her paintings. They research her together while their romance buds.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 17: Double-sided Painting  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 17 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 2,989  
 **Summary:** Good to her word, Jessica brings over some books about the artist from Sam's nightmare. There is something obviously supernatural about her paintings. They research her together while their romance buds.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #17 Fear and Coclaim100 Prompt #17 Different.  
 **Author's Notes:** Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.  
 **Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural."** Set pre-series.

  
        There was a knock at the door.

        Sam quickly lowered the screen on his laptop and wiped at this eyes before hurrying to the door. Just before he opened it, he said a hopeful little prayer that it would be who he thought it was.

        "Hi Sam," Jessica said.

        Even just standing in the doorway holding a couple of books, she looked amazing. Sam found himself just standing there staring at the mole between her eyes. The way that she didn't even try to cover it, just let it show with such genuine confidence...

        "Sam?"

        He came to his senses when she said his name, and felt like a gigantic dork for just standing there. "Um, oh... sorry." Sam laughed lightly with embarrassment.

        Jessica thought that had to be the cutest thing about him. The boyish charm. "It's okay." She held up the books. "I got them."

        "Huh? Oh!" He opened the door wider. "Come in."

        Jessica spread the books out on Sam's desk. "There have only been two books written about Alexandra Baptiste, both by the same author. A guy up north who owns just about all of her paintings."

        "He must really like her work." After pulling Gerald's desk chair over and offering it to Jessica, Sam took a seat himself. He couldn't help but watch her cross her legs in that cute little jean skirt she had on before turning his attention to the items she'd brought. He read the cover of the first book. _An Unusual Life: The Paintings of Alexandra Baptiste_ , by Rowan Bloodworth. Sounded like a generic overview of her work. The second book could prove to be a little more informative. _The Art of Alexandra Baptiste and Occult Symbolism_. Sam raised an eyebrow at that one.

        "You can keep those for two weeks. I checked them out from the library." Opening the first book, Jessica pointed to some of the paintings as she flipped through it. "I mentioned this earlier, but Baptiste claimed she got all the ideas for her paintings from visions she received from a divine sea serpent. There was a cult that worshipped this being at the time. She painted these visions and the people in them exclusively, nothing else." She indicated a painting of a small child. "This was her daughter, Sasha. There were rumors about her, that maybe she was the product of an affair Baptiste had. Very scandalous stuff for the time."

        Sam grinned. "You sure know a lot about her."

        "Not really. I mean, I just skimmed some of the chapters." Jessica had to smile herself before admitting, "I was almost late because I got so engrossed. It's all really interesting."

        Sam snickered. He couldn't be more happy to just be here with her, looking through books and chatting.

        "A lot of shit about these paintings is weird, besides all the divine serpent stuff. Like, look at this one." Jessica indicated a painting on the page facing them; it featured a woman standing on a grassy cliff overlooking the water, her back to the viewer. They were not aware that this woman was Anna Morgan, in a scene from Samara's videotape. "Look at the clothes she's wearing. They're much too modern for 1774, when this painting was done. Baptiste claimed that she received visions of the _future_."

        "Really?" Sam had to pretend that everything about this artist that made her odd was interesting for completely different reasons than the fact that it was probably all true. Jessica had no idea about the validity of the supernatural, and he had no intention of ever letting her find out.

         _You really think you can keep that from her forever, Sammy?_

         _Shut up. I don't hunt anymore._

         _Really. You don't?_

        Jessica was talking. "...You have to admit, it is pretty strange that the woman claimed she could see into the future through the powers given to her by this serpent, and she painted things that she couldn't have possibly known about in her time period. Look at this one." She flipped through the pages until she found a painting of a stone well in a grassy clearing. The view of the well was from an angle, like one was standing nearby, looking down at it. On the opposite side of the well, on the edge, someone had left a sawed-off shotgun.

        The painting was called _Ding Dong Dell_.

        Sam tried not to make any noise as he swallowed hard. He knew that silly little song from childhood. _Ding Dong Dell, Susie's in the well... Who pushed her in? Little Johnny Finn... Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout._ The implications the painting suggested chilled his bones. That shotgun was exactly the same kind that his family used. It hadn't been placed there carefully, either. The gun sat at an angle, like it had been left there hastily.

        Or dropped.

         _Ding Dong Dell, Dean is in the well..._

        Is this what was going to happen, what Sam feared for Dean? What was down in that well?

        Sam suddenly felt a sharp pain between his eyes. He groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

        "Sam, are you okay?"

        The pain dissipated quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting a headache or something."

        "You want some aspirin?" asked Jessica.

        "Uh, sure, that'd be great. Anyway, you were saying...?"

        While she fished the aspirin out of her purse, Jessica said, "I bet if you checked, you'd find that a gun like that wasn't manufactured in the late 1700's. It looks far too modern."

        "No." Sam rubbed between his eyes. "No, it most definitely wasn't manufactured then."

        "You know something about guns?" Jessica pried the cap off the bottle and offered it to Sam.

        His eyes briefly shifted back and forth. "A little."

        Continuing, she turned the pages to another chapter. "Baptiste also did a whole series of double-sided paintings. Usually, people painted on both sides of the canvas only because they couldn't afford to buy a new one every time they wanted to paint something. But her family was loaded, so that had nothing to do with it. She painted all these women she called Brides, and their children, who she called Messengers. The paintings had a side of light, and a side of dark. This is one of them." Jessica put her finger beside a painting and said something that made Sam gasp. He couldn't help it. "It's called _Samara_."

        Just staring for a while, Sam wondered if this was really the child he had spoken to in his dream. He looked at her white dress, her long black hair, and her far off, melancholy expression.

        "What?" Jessica questioned.

        "Nothing, just... there was a kid in the movie named Samara."

        "Really? That's weird. I don't even think it's a Japanese name."

        Sam finally looked up from the painting. "Uh, it wasn't necessarily a Japanese movie. Just had a Japanese character in it."

        "Oh."

        He wished he didn't have to lie so much to her about all this. In a way, he _was_ telling the truth... he just wasn't telling Jessica the _whole_ truth. Sam turned his attention back to the book. Next to the art of 'Light' Samara was her painting of darkness. In that one, the child's dress had grown filthy; her feet bare; her hair wet and straggly, completely obscuring her face. Sam noticed that Samara's fingernails were bloody. Some of them might even be missing. The bits of her skin that he could see looked grey and wrinkled, like she'd been in the water for a long time. The child looked dead. He wondered what had happened to her.

        The dark side of the painting was called, _She Never Sleeps_.

        "The Light and Dark portraits of Samara form the only double-sided painting that survived the war. The others might've been lost forever. No one knows where they are, if they even exist anymore."

        Looking up from the book again, Sam blinked at her and asked, "The war? What do you mean?"

        Jessica sighed, but with a grin. "Here's where it gets really bizarre. The Bloodworth family didn't begin their collection until the 1950's. Before then, the paintings were in the possession of various museums and private collectors. During World War II, Adolf Hitler seized many of the paintings, especially the two-sided ones, for his own collection. You know, he was into art."

        This almost stunned Sam into the loss of speech. He stammered, "I, uh, yeah. I know. _Adolf Hitler?_ _The_ Adolf Hitler?"

        "The one and only."

        "What did he want them for?!"

        Indicating the second book, Jessica replied, "Hitler was also into the occult. You probably knew that too. He thought the paintings had supernatural powers." She snickered, clearly astonished. "Can you believe this shit?"

        It took him several seconds, but Sam finally stammered out, "What _kind_ of powers?"

        Jessica looked at him funny. "I don't know; it's all in the book. But why does it matter?" She tittered with amusement. "You're acting like you _believe_ all this stuff."

        Embarrassed, Sam tried to hide the fact that he _did_. "No, of course not. Paintings with supernatural powers, pfft."

        Laughing at him harder, Jessica grabbed his forearm and squeezed it. "Sam, do you believe in the supernatural? Are we a little superstitious, hm?"

        He laughed too. "Me? No way."

        "You're trying too hard to convince me," she giggled. Jessica gave his belly a little tickle. "Who are you really trying to convince?"

        "Oh, you're one to talk. You seem to believe that Alexandra Baptiste could see into the future." Sam reached over and tickled her back. She squealed laughter. "A gun like that wasn't manufactured way back then," he said teasingly, imitating Jessica's voice.

        "I don't sound like that." She doubled her efforts to find all of his most ticklish spots.

        "Yes you dooo-ooo," Sam teased in his Jessica voice some more. She found the most ticklish Sammy spot of all, under his arms. Sam snorted loudly as his knee involuntarily bucked upward and almost turned the desk over with a loud _THUMP!_ They both scrambled to keep the contents of the desk from falling to the floor. A pencil can full of pens and pencils, a stapler, and a stuffed monkey with long arms were the only casualties. They looked at each other and broke into renewed giggles.

        "Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. Oh, you tease me about believing that this woman could see into the future? Wait until you get a load of this." Jessica picked up the more generic book and flipped through it, occasionally peeking at Sam over the top until she found the page she'd been looking for. "Ah. Here we are. This is a painting Alexandra did in 1779. The clothes these people are wearing are very modern, and the men in the painting are holding guns I bet weren't manufactured anywhere near that year. You might also find it interesting that the guy on the left looks like YOU!" She shoved the book out at him with her mouth open in shock; it was all meant as a joke.

        Sam could not, however, take it in the spirit it was meant, for the painting he was now looking at in this book was the same painting Alexandra had been creating in the dream he'd had the night before. The one she'd had him "pose" for, where she went into the trance and burned his image into the canvas. Here was the finished painting.

        Sam could be seen only in profile. One could make a good case that it was not Sam, because, after all, Alexandra's brushstroke style could be wide and indistinct. But it did look an awful lot like Sam. He had more of his back turned to the viewer than the other male in the painting, and held a sawed-off shotgun, the same make as the one from the painting of the well.

        The other man in this work of art was Dean.

        He was also depicted in profile and held the same type of gun. Sam recognized the shirt he was wearing. He knew his own brother well enough to realize that Dean was older in this painting, older than he was now. Whatever was going on in this painting, whatever was making them look so determined and serious, it hadn't happened yet.

        Between them stood, no, _floated_ a dark-haired girl in a long flowered skirt, wearing boots and a denim jacket. Her arms were outspread and her eyes had become mirrors. No whites, no irises, no pupils. Just mirrors.

        The painting was entitled, _For Quinn_.

        Sam jumped up from the desk, hitting his knees on the edge and making it wobble again. He backed away so fast that he knocked over his chair. The actions nearly scared Jessica right out of her skin; she let out a little squeal of surprise. Sam outright refused to accept what that painting meant. If this Baptiste woman really had been able to see into the future, then that meant that somehow, perhaps by his connection to this very case, Sam would be pulled back in to the world of demon hunting.

        It was all right there in vivid color. Working side by side with Dean, using rock salt guns, a girl with plainly supernatural eyes - _Sam, you're going back whether you like it or not!_

        "No!" he yelled angrily at the book, which, despite being jostled, was still open to the same page. "NO! I am not going back! Do you hear me?! I'm through! I'm done! I'm not like them! I don't hunt anymore!" Sam turned away from the desk and tried to get control of himself. "I don't hunt anymore..."

        Startled and confused, Jessica got up and crossed the small room to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. His broad chest and back heaved with quickly-drawn breaths. "Sam, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

        He desperately tried to calm down. "I'm, ah... I'm fine, Jess. I just... I... I'm sorry I freaked like that. It's just that..."

        "No, Sam, _I'm_ sorry. I upset you."

        Turning around, he took her gently by the arms. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. Okay? It's just that the guy in the painting does look a lot like me, and he's holding a gun... When my brother and I were kids, our dad taught us to hunt game, and I did it for years. I just went along with it because, well, my family was all I had. But as I got older, it started to feel wrong. Like it just wasn't for me. You know what I mean?" Sam asked.

        Jessica nodded in understanding.

        "When I saw that painting, it was like I was right back there. In the thick of it. Everything, hunting. Nothing else matters." He let out a heavy sigh. "When I think of it, I can't breathe."

        Her fingers gently touched his cheek in a brief caress. "Didn't you like anything about it?" She could hardly stand the thought of little Sam being forced to kill animals by a tyrannical father, that maybe his childhood was unhappy.

        Because he hadn't expected that question, Sam blinked, and gave it some thought. Then he smiled warmly. "Yeah. At times, it was fun. Nothing is ever all bad." A hundred memories flashed across his mind. Most of them contained a lovably arrogant blond who never stopped calling him Sammy. "Some things, I miss." An instant later, his eyes hardened again. "But I never want to go back to that life."

        "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Jessica assured.

        With a satisfied smile, Sam agreed with her. "That's right. I don't."

        Jessica had to go after that; she had a night class at six-thirty. She left him the books. Sam sat at his desk for a while, just staring at them, knowing that he had to figure out two things. One, how to get Jessica for his very own. And two, how to give the information they had uncovered about Alexandra Baptiste and the sisters to Dean without Dean knowing it came from him.

 **Additional Author's Notes:** The Hitler thing comes from a dream I had which was basically about exactly what's in the story. If the whole idea sounds a little cracktastic, please remember that 'obsessed' is pretty much an understatement when it comes to me and this movie series. It sounds totally plausible to me. ;)

  
it won't stop


	18. Day 18: The Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy goes to see the people at St. Jerome's Catholic Church to ask for their help with the evil spirit haunting her roommate, Svetlana. That evil spirit is Samara Morgan.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 18: The Calling  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 18 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,076  
 **Summary:** Darcy goes to see the people at St. Jerome's Catholic Church to ask for their help with the evil spirit haunting her roommate, Svetlana. That evil spirit is Samara Morgan.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter also contains spoilers for the _Miracles_ episode "The Ferguson Syndrome."  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #18 Conquer and Coclaim100 Prompt #18 Phoenix.  
 **Author's Notes:** Darcy's last name comes from Binflaggle, one of the many crazy people who volunteered to let me use their name for a character.  
 **Cross-over with the tv show _Miracles_.** The only _Miracles_ character who is in this chapter is Father Calero, but Paul Callan is mentioned at length. I don't know what the actual name of Father Calero's church was - it was never mentioned on the show, but it can be assumed it's something close to St. Jerome Emiliani's since that was the name of the orphanage attached to the church. Yes, I am aware that St. Jerome and St. Jerome Emiliani are two different saints. :D

  
        It wasn't that Todd Varo had never come to work and found Father Calero waiting for him in his office before. That wasn't it. The surprising thing was that Father Calero had a college-age person waiting with him, a girl with dark hair and glasses.

        "Todd, I want you to meet Darcy Villiers. She's one of our parishioners. Darcy, this is Todd Varo. He's an assistant counselor, among other things." Father Calero looked at Todd with a wry grin.

        "Hi," Darcy said, and shook his hand.

        "Can I speak to you in the hall for a moment, Todd? Darcy, we'll be right back."

        Darcy nodded politely and watched them step out into the hall, knowing that Father Calero was going to tell the other man what she was there for. The fact that he was passing her off to someone below him in the church chain of command had already made her feel a little put off, but she wasn't going to give up. Not until they listened. She had faith in the people of St. Jerome's of Boston.

        Darcy busied her mind by studying the mural of a dove flying in front of the sun that had been painted on the wall behind Todd's desk. The sun's rays had coincidentally been arranged to form a red, orange, and yellow tail for the dove; Darcy thought it looked like a glorious Phoenix rising from the ashes.

        Todd spent most of his time doing his actual job for the church, which was investigating the authenticity of miracles. Not the usual thing one expected to see on a resume, but there it was. Todd had taken over about eight months after the last guy left. To this day, he still lived in Paul Callan's shadow.

        In many ways, Todd was better suited for this job than Paul Callan had been. Paul had been very good at separating the real miracles from the hoaxes, the honest mistakes, the people who just wanted nothing more than to believe; his skills and knowledge had not been the problem. What Paul Callan hadn't been prepared for was how fast the cases with a mundane explanation would pile up against the nonexistent pile of actual miracles.

        Paul had been looking for meaning in his career. He wanted it to prove the existence of God. A sign. That's all he asked for.

        When the job had actually delivered a miracle, one very close to Paul's heart, the church asked for more proof. Paul needed no more proof than the fact that he was alive, and the boy who had healed his broken body had paid for that gift with his own life. When the Archdiocese would not accept his report that this miracle was authentic, Paul had quit.

        Todd heard about Paul's record all the time. It didn't bother him anymore; he thought he was better suited for the job emotionally. He did not need to find actual miracles in his investigations because he had already gotten the sign from God that most future priests received -- they referred to it as The Calling.

        Perplexed, Todd often wondered why Paul had not received this sign. He'd asked him about it once when they passed each other in the hall, but Paul had never seen any angels or the Blessed Mother telling him his destiny. So, why become a priest? Paul had shaken his head and sighed, replying that it just felt right.

        Todd thought he knew. Paul was one of St. Jerome Emiliani's kids. The orphanage attached to St. Jerome's of Boston had turned out many people who had lost their parents at a young age, most of them lifetime Catholics who attended Father Calero's sermons religiously. Every Sunday, they were there. It was not just because of faith. Most of them showed such loyalty to this church because Father Calero had been their "Poppi."

        That is what he told the orphans to call him: Poppi. The man was tireless in his devotion to the kids, spending as much time with each of them as his boundless energy would allow. If Paul Callan had any father figure in his life, it was Father Calero, a man he still referred to by the endeared nickname even in polite conversation. Of course, Paul often corrected himself, but Todd still understood exactly what motivated Paul Callan when he talked about his "Poppi, uh, I mean, Father Calero."

        Becoming a priest had been for Paul his thank you to Father Calero for raising him in an environment of love and warmth, something often lacking for a boy whose birth father had never claimed him and mother had died of cancer when he was just shy of five.

        But something had broken inside of Paul when the one miracle he had experienced was spit upon by men above Poppi's head. Maybe he was never meant to be a priest after all, never meant to carry on the "family business." Perhaps they'd never know.

        Todd knew that the life was meant for him, and so he could press on until the day he took his vows. In many ways, he could handle the disappointment on people's faces better than Paul had been able to, mostly because he looked at it differently. Todd believed he was doing the church, and the world, a service by exposing these events as not being performed by God's hands. People needed to know the difference between real miracles and the mundane. It only hurt God, Todd believed, for people to think that the stain on the screen door was a sign from the Virgin Mary. Not that God wasn't strong enough to take a little knock here and there, but it definitely damaged the reputation of the church he worked for when people thought there were angels in the photograph when it was really just a camera defect. Such beliefs led to the elderly sending all their food money to charlatans, hoping to receive salvation in return, and Todd wanted things like that to end for good. People _needed_ to know the difference. They would be disappointed to have their "miracle" taken from them for a while, but over time, they'd come to realize that only the truth brought them closer to God.

        Father Calero started putting on his coat before he even closed the door to Todd's office. "Todd, I have to go out of town through the weekend, so I'd like you to handle this one for me. If I don't leave in the next ten minutes, I won't make my plane."

        "What's going on with the little lady?"

        "Darcy's one of our regulars. You know her parents, yes?"

        "Yes," Todd replied.

        Father Calero continued. "She's in college, so we don't see her every Sunday, but her parents still get her to come a couple times a month. Darcy's worried about her roommate." He paused for effect, raising his eyebrows. "Thinks the girl is possessed."

        Todd resisted rolling his eyes. "Too many viewings of _The Exorcist_?"

        "Maybe. I'd appreciate it if you counseled her and evaluated the situation for further action on our part. The least we can do is help the roommate for whatever's making her act out." Father Calero checked his watch.

        "Of course. Is the roommate a parishioner here?"

        "No. She's an exchange student from Holland."

        Considering that, Todd nodded, already forming scenarios of what could be going on here in his head. Young girl, far from home, begins feeling homesick and isolated... the possibilities for mental problems could be easily surmised there. "Alright, I'll talk to her. Her name is Darcy?"

        "Yes."

        "You go now, don't miss your plane." Todd patted Father Calero on the arm. "She's in capable hands."

*****

        Darcy had to admit that she liked Todd Varo on sight. He wasn't as attentive and sympathetic as Paul Callan had been, with his soft, non-threatening features and brown eyes, but Todd did have something in common with Darcy that Paul did not -- round-rimmed John Lennon glasses. Darcy wanted to like anyone who wore the same glasses as her hero. Todd didn't have Paul's innocently handsome face, but he was fairly good-looking in his own right.

        Todd sat on the edge of his desk and apologized for Father Calero having to rush off to catch a plane. "What is your reason for seeking our help, Darcy?"

        Darcy wondered if he really hadn't been filled in or if he just wanted to hear the story directly from her. "Before I just launch into this, can I ask you some questions?"

        "Shoot."

        She pointed to the mural of the dove. "Who painted that?"

        Todd glanced back at it before speaking of the mural. "One of the kids from the orphanage, many years ago. He did the basic design and then the younger kids came in and painted in the lines."

        "It's very nice," Darcy said. "I remember seeing it when I was in here before. It was a few years ago when my parents were considering divorce and I needed someone to talk to."

        "Ah. What happened?"

        "They decided to stay together." She smiled to herself. "Father Calero was responsible for that. He's a miracle worker."

        "Father Calero is a very persuasive man. Always knows what to say. But he's not the one who did the real work. That was your parents, with His help," he reminded her, pointing at the ceiling.

        Darcy had to agree. "Still, he did a pretty amazing job getting them to remember why they got married in the first place. Anyway, I saw Paul Callan then. He counseled me while Father Calero dealt with my parents. You took over Paul's position, didn't you?"

        "That I did," Todd nodded.

        "What happened to Paul?"

        "Well..." He folded his hands together in his lap, considering how to word it all. "...he still volunteers often at the church and the orphanage. And he's still a parishioner here. But he ultimately decided not to continue in his position with the church."

        "Is it true that Paul was investigating a boy in the Southwest somewhere who could really heal the sick, but only at the cost of his own health, and Paul got hurt really bad somehow and the boy healed him and it killed him? And the church said Paul was lying? 'Cause that's what I heard," Darcy said, picking at her nails and fidgeting in her chair, as if saying something so confrontational made her feel insecure.

        "Yes and no," Todd answered. He shifted on the desk, shifting things around in his mind at the same time to try to figure out how to best word his reply. "Paul Callan did investigate a boy in the Southwest, but no one from the church sent him there. It's still not known who called Paul and told him to go. The boy's parents did claim that the boy could heal the sick and the boy did die. But he was a very sick little boy. Paul experienced something there that he thought was an authentic miracle. The church looked at his report and deemed that there wasn't enough proof of an actual miraculous event."

        "And that's why he quit?"

        Shrugging, Todd said, "I'm not sure if that was the cause of his departure; you would have to ask him." Truthfully, Todd knew it _was_ the reason Paul quit, but he couldn't say that to her. May God forgive him for that little lie.

        Darcy looked up from her nails and asked, "What do _you_ think happened with that investigation?"

        "Did Paul Callan experience an actual miracle? I cannot say." Todd ran a hand through his light brown hair. "I wasn't there."

        Looking disappointed, she pressed, "But do you believe miracles are possible?"

        He smiled at her. "I most certainly do."

        "What about evil spirits? Do they exist?"

        Ah, she was finally loosening up and getting to the reason why she was here. "It's possible."

        "Have you ever heard of a spirit named Samara?"

        Todd gave it some thought. "Not that I know of."

        "Well, my roommate is being haunted by a spirit named Samara. She may even be possessed." Darcy refused to look up, playing with her nails again.

        "What makes you think that?" He kept the tone of his voice as even as possible. To sound skeptical or dubious would only make the girl stop talking.

        "First, we were trying to sleep in our dorm room, and we heard scratching in the walls." Darcy finally looked up at Todd with a defiant gaze. "That's a sign of demonic possession. I read about it."

        "It can be..." It could also be a sign that the dorm had rats.

        "Svetlana became nearly hysterical. That's my roommate, Svetlana. She addressed a corner of the room as 'Samara,' telling her to go away, leave her alone. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear the scratching.

        "After that, we weren't staying in that room anymore, so we went over to Svetlana's boyfriend's apartment and spent the night. Quinn, that's her boyfriend. Quinn's got a roommate, Jodie, and I got the whole story out of her. She said Svet and Quinn had watched a videotape a few days ago that has a curse on it. Anyone who watches this tape gets cursed by this spirit, Samara. She terrorizes you for seven days and then... well, it's not clear what happens next." Darcy had stopped picking at her nails and now looked up at Todd with intensity. "Some say you die."

        Todd's skepticism had kicked in full force when Darcy got to the part about the videotape with a curse on it. Sounded like some sort of ridiculous urban legend, like the one about the woman whose internal organs were cooked by too many visits to the tanning salon. "Really?"

        "Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but you should have seen how hysterical Svetlana got. I mean, she was really crying _hard_. The weird thing is, Jodie watched the same tape later, but she's not being stalked by Samara hardly at all. And then we all had the same dream this morning." The more she discussed this, the more desperate Darcy's voice became; she really needed someone outside the situation to believe it.

        "The same dream?"

        "Yes! We were all at Quinn's funeral. And there were evil spirits there! I could see them and feel their evil around me. It was like I was doing battle with this thing that's trying to claim Svetlana's soul." Tears came to Darcy's eyes, but she held them back. "I could really _feel_ it."

        Standing up, Todd leaned over and put a hand on Darcy's shoulder. He met her eyes. "What can I do to help?"

        "Help me conquer this thing. Help me save my friends."

        "It would help if I could talk to Svetlana and Quinn." There were all sorts of rational explanations for what was happening to these kids. Todd imagined he could get to the bottom of it by just seeing them, if not chatting with them. His first guess would be drugs.

        "Quinn's family is throwing a party on Thursday night. His sister is coming home from England for Spring Break. Can you come?" asked Darcy hopefully.

        Ultimately, Todd would prefer they come into the office, but observing them in their own environment would be a good idea too. "Yes, I can come. I'll speak to them there, and we can figure out a plan of action."

        "To ward off the demon?"

        Todd didn't want to commit to labeling this problem as a demon; his response was a bit evasive. "Yes, to ward off any demons plaguing your friends, even if they turn out to be inner demons. Tell me, has Svetlana been depressed since she came over here from Holland?"

        "Not really, not the majority of the time. But there are times when she gets a bit homesick," Darcy replied. "Anybody would."

        "Hm." Todd, sitting on the desk again, reached over and patted Darcy's knee. "Don't worry about them. I'll talk with them, and we'll figure this out. You did the right thing."

        Darcy smiled gratefully. "That's good to hear. I just know that they can't do this alone. Svetlana is beside herself with fear."

        "Well she's got a lot of people on her side now who are going to offer her the help she needs. Ultimately, it's up to her and her boyfriend to do what's necessary to escape this evil, but with God on their side, they can conquer all." Todd smiled right along with her. "Pray for them, Darcy. God will listen."

        "Oh, can we all form a prayer circle for them at the party?" Darcy bounced excitedly in her chair. "The more people we have, the stronger we'll be."

        "We can do that. But remember Darcy, God hears even the smallest voice." Getting a pad of paper and a pen, Todd asked, "Now, where and when is this party?"

        After she'd given him all the information, Darcy grinned and added, "Oh, by the way..."

        He looked at her expectantly.

        "Cool glasses," she finished, pointing to her own. "Are you a Beatles fan?"

        Todd grinned back. "I get by with a little help from my friends," he said, and looked up to the sky.

  
it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
 _Miracles_ is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment  & Touchstone Television.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**


	19. Day 19: Sordid Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stacy gets into a fight with her friend Jasmine for as yet unknown reasons. Boston Central High is buzzing with questions about who put the threatening graffiti on the bathroom wall. That afternoon, Stacy's boyfriend, Beckett, heads over to Jodie and Quinn's to do a psychic reading of Samara's videotape.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 19: Sordid Story  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 19 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.  
 **Word Count:** 3,068  
 **Summary:** Stacy gets into a fight with her friend Jasmine for as yet unknown reasons. Boston Central High is buzzing with questions about who put the threatening graffiti on the bathroom wall. That afternoon, Stacy's boyfriend, Beckett, heads over to Jodie and Quinn's to do a psychic reading of Samara's videotape.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. There are spoilers for a movie called _The Rules of Attraction_ in this chapter, but they are minor considering the characters involved in the scene discussed are never named.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #19 Slave and Coclaim100 Prompt #19 Road Trip.  
 **Author's Notes:** The way that this chapter fits the "Slave" prompt is not overtly obvious, but it will become more apparent as the story goes on.  
It's a long story, but Coach Monday is the name of rather large stuffed dog I grew up with. Whenever I hear "Coach," I think, "Monday."

  
        "So, the girl goes into the bathroom to hide, you know, and she looks over at the bathtub, and there's her friend, like, _dead_. Girl has killed herself right there, in the dorm bathroom."

        "It's the bathroom for the _whole dorm?_ "

        "No, it's, like, the bathroom for that floor. Or that end of the floor. I don't know, I'm still in high school; what do I know about how dorms work?" Both girls laughed from their position on the tiled floor of Boston Central High, sitting in front of their lockers.

        "How'd the girl kill herself?" Alice asked. She fumbled with the buckles on her canvas bookbag, which lay in her lap.

        Playing with the barrette that held back some of her long blonde hair, Stacy tossed her locks around her shoulders as she replied, "She slit her wrists. So the water is full of blood."

        "There's water in the bathtub? Woooow..."

        "Yeah. And the dead girl is stark... _naked_."

        Alice's eyes went wide. "You're shitting me. She's in the tub totally nude?"

        Stacy nodded, letting out a nervous little laugh. "Her friend sees her and starts to cry, and then she drags her naked body out of the tub and holds her like that."

        "Naked?!"

        Nodding again, Stacy started giggling. "I couldn't believe they did the scene that way." She went through her purse, looking for a mirror. "Now, if it'd been me in that bathtub, I would have at least worn a bathing suit. Who wants to be found dead stark freakin' nude?"

        Alice giggled so loud that other students turned to glare at her, wondering what was so funny. "Just because you're going to kill yourself doesn't mean you have to show your goodies off to the whole world, right?"

        "Right," Stacy tittered back. She began brushing her hair while looking in the mirror she'd found.

        "What movie did you say this was again?"

        " _The Rules of Attraction_."

        "I gotta see that," Alice declared. "It sounds totally raunchy."

        "Oh, _so_ much sex in that thing. Jessica Biel is in it."

        "Really? She's so pretty - "

        Another of Stacy's friends walked up to where the girls were sitting. "Stacy, I gotta talk to you."

        Stacy looked up at her uneasily. "Hey Jasmine. 'Sup?"

        Jasmine settled her dark eyes on Alice. "Alone."

        Put off by how Jasmine had handled it, Alice got up and whisked her bag off the floor with a haughty flourish. "All you had to do was ask," she said in her most offended tone, and deliberately bumped into Jasmine's shoulder on her way by.

        Jasmine ignored it, though she did let out a world-weary sigh.

        Stacy stood too. "What is it?"

        Wasting no time, Jasmine looked at her very seriously and said, "Stace, we've got to tell someone what we saw."

        Stacy blinked at her reflection in the mirror. She put most of her attention on her hair, which couldn't have been brushed to more of a sheen if she tried. "I don't know what you mean."

        Jasmine, grabbing her arm, pushed her against the lockers behind her a little too hard. "Of course you know what I mean," she nearly growled out. "Stop playing dumb."

        The taller black girl had fifteen pounds of muscle on Stacy; she ran track and was on the soccer team. Stacy cringed, although Jasmine was not squeezing her arm. "Let go! You're hurting me!"

        "Stacy, this is serious! You've been avoiding me for nearly a week, but we're going to talk about it. If all this stuff is true - "

        "I told you not to worry about it." Stacy pulled her arm out of Jasmine's grasp with a wince. "No one would ever believe us anyway."

        "We can't just sit back and do nothing! Those girls - " She grabbed Stacy's arm again as she tried to walk away. "Stace!"

        Stacy yanked her arm back, turning so fast that her purse flew off her shoulder and hit the ground. Items flew out of it, scattering all over the floor. She dropped the mirror and it shattered. "Look what you made me do!"

        Some nearby kids laughed. One of them called, "Smooth move."

        Jasmine put her hands on her hips. "If you hadn't tried to run away, it never would have happened."

        "I wasn't running away. Look Jasmine, just let it rest, okay?" Stacy started gathering up her things.

        Rolling her eyes, the girl went to leave. "Fine. I guess I'll just have to tell your mom what happened."

        Stacy, with a look fit to kill, stood up and grabbed Jasmine's shoulder, whirling her back around. "Don't you _dare_."

        "You gonna stop me?"

        The two girls circled each other for a few steps. "You tell my mom, and I will kick your nosy ass."

        "Nosy?" Jasmine asked, tilting her head. "I'm just trying to help you."

        "Who _asked_ you?" On _asked_ , Stacy shoved Jasmine into the lockers behind her.

        "Oh that's it." Jasmine pushed back, nearly knocking the other girl over. "Don't do this, Stacy."

        But Stacy did not know when to quit.

        Less than sixty seconds later, one of the gym teachers entered the hallway to find a group of kids in a haphazard circle near the big windows that overlooked the courtyard, chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

        Some cried, "Come on Stacy, hit 'er! Just punch her real hard!" while others cheered, "Yeah, Jasmine, smack that bitch! Rip 'er hair out!"

        The kids parted like the Red Sea for Moses when the coach entered the crowd. When he reached the middle of the circle, he found Jasmine Fuller on top of Stacy Ballard, beating her to a pulp. Stacy had gotten in a few good licks, but anyone could see who was the bigger girl with the advantage over the other.

        Jasmine was saying, "Just stay down, goddamnit. Don't make me hit you anymore!"

        Coach Mundae grabbed Jasmine by her collar and dragged her off the other girl. "Fuller, what do you think you're doing?!"

        "She started it!" Jasmine cried. Her hair was a mess.

        Near tears, Stacy stumbled to her feet, wiping at her face with her hands. She had a fat, bleeding lip and an eye that was blackening. The barrette that had been holding her hair back was askew, with hair sticking out in clumps. She sniffled and tried to act like she didn't hurt all over.

        "I don't care who started it, I just want you both to head on down to the principal's office. Come on, get your stuff and let's go." The coach pointed down the hall.

        Stacy angrily snatched up her purse and backpack. "You better keep your mouth shut!" she suddenly snapped at Jasmine.

        Holding out a steady hand, Jasmine quipped, "Watch me shake."

        "No talking!" Coach Mundae barked.

*****

        Beckett hadn't gotten word of the fight between Jasmine and his girlfriend Stacy yet, so he checked his watch often as he waited for her by the library after school.

        A friend passing by stopped and said, "Hey Beckett, how's it goin'?"

        "Hangin' in there. What are you up to, Ethan?"

        "Getting all the news that's fit to print." Ethan was on the school newspaper staff, and sometimes, he took it a little too seriously. "Take a look at this picture I got." Getting out his digital camera, he pressed a few buttons and showed Beckett the preview screen.

        Beckett saw what looked like the inside of a bathroom stall. There was writing all over the wall and a few small puddles of blood on the floor. His face scrunched in disgust. "Ew. What the hell happened here?"

        "Some girl went ballistic in a bathroom stall. Marked up the wall and smeared blood all over the place. Several of us on the staff think she may be a cutter."

        "A girl? This is the girls' bathroom? So how'd you get the picture?"

        Ethan lifted his chin proudly. "You think I'm going to let a little thing like a 'Girls' sign keep me from getting an important photo?"

        "You just charged into the girls' bathroom? How'd you even know to go in there?" Beckett studied the camera's preview screen.

        "I heard some girls talking about it. And yes, I just charged right in there. Got pelted with tampons for it, but at least they weren't _used_ ," Ethan said with a mischievous grin.

        "Ew!" Laughing, Beckett shoved at Ethan's arm. "You're gross!"

        Ethan just snickered back.

        Looking a bit confused, Beckett pointed at something on the little screen. "It's hard to read what this says; did this girl write, 'Please stop me before they make me kill again'?"

        "She sure did," nodded Ethan, "and I got the only picture of the graffiti. Just minutes after I took it, a janitor arrived to clean it all up. I bet I get the front page. I mean, that's a threat, right? It could be a threat against the school. I showed that to the principal and he didn't lock the place down. He might regret that. I think everyone has a right to know that happened, don't you?"

        Beckett was too engrossed in trying to pull a kernel of memory from his head to really be listening to what Ethan was saying at this point. "That phrase is _extremely_ familiar. I think it's really close to what some serial killer said a long time ago."

        That only made Ethan perk up with more excitement for his scoop. "Are you serious? A serial killer? Man... if someone shoots up the school, I'm going to go right to that principal and rub it in _so_ hard..."

        Beckett was obviously not listening to the other boy, too lost in his own thoughts and suspicions. His eyebrows scrunched together with worry. "You think she's a cutter?"

        Ethan nodded again. "Yeah..." He pointed to the screen. "It would explain the blood. Especially all this on the wall." Miming that he had something sharp in his hand, Ethan whipped his imaginary knife across his arm. "Fft."

        Pausing for a long time, Beckett eventually said, "Are you sure you should print this in the school paper? I mean, this could be embarrassing for the girl."

        "Dude, we gotta find out who she is. Who knows what she's planning?"

        Handing back the camera, Beckett scoffed and stood up from where he'd been sitting, walking around the area with obvious discomfort. "Girls don't shoot up schools, Ethan. Only guys do that."

        "So? Maybe she's got a psycho boyfriend. They're planning it together." He opened up his hands and shrugged. "There's a first time for everything, right?"

        "Yeah, I guess so." Fidgeting, Beckett walked around some more. "Where is Stacy?" he suddenly asked in an impatient tone.

        A few minutes later, Stacy's younger sister, Amy, strolled up to Beckett and Ethan. "Hi guys." She bashfully hugged her books to her chest.

        "Hey Amy. Where is your damn sister?" Beckett asked. "I've been waiting here for her for forever."

        Unable to hold back her smile, Amy giggled and replied, "Stacy's in detention. She got in a fight with Jasmine today."

        Beckett looked surprised. "Why? Jasmine's one of her closest friends."

        All Amy could do was shrug in reply.

        By the time Stacy made the scene, Ethan had gone home, and Amy and Beckett looked quite bored, sitting there on the marble ledge surrounding the atrium. Stacy wore sunglasses and had fixed up her hair, but she couldn't hide the split in her swollen bottom lip. "Well, I've had an interesting day. How about you?"

        Beckett gawked at her injuries. "Holy shit... Stace, what happened? Why'd Jasmine do that to you?"

        "Oh, you know how these things happen. Your friend starts talking shit about you and things just get out of hand." Her tone cynical and still angry, Stacy sighed.

        "She was talking shit? What'd she say?" asked Amy.

        "Let's not rehash the whole sordid story. I don't want to talk about it." Stacy, rolling her eyes, tossed her backpack over one shoulder.

        Beckett dug a dollar out of his pocket. "Amy, go get a Coke or something, okay? I want to talk to Stacy alone for a minute."

        Amy seemed disappointed. Like most thirteen-year-olds, she didn't like being left out of anything potentially juicy and exciting. Still, she took the dollar and trudged off.

        Stacy let out another sigh and looked away. "I thought I just said I didn't want to talk - "

        Beckett took hold of either side of her waist and lifted her up onto a higher portion of the ledge. She made a high-pitched sound of surprise, then giggled when he placed his hands on either side of her and leaned in for a gentle kiss. Stacy's position put them at eye level with each other. "I'll be careful when I kiss you until that lip heals," Beckett promised. "Just don't stop kissing me altogether."

        "It's a deal," she replied, and they shared another little kiss.

        "Now, I know you've had a tough day, so I won't press you. But you know you can talk to me about what happened if you need a shoulder to cry on."

        Stacy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I know."

        "Are you okay after what happened?"

        "Kind of."

        Beckett paused, trying to decide if he should go there. "You're wearing long sleeves."

        "And? So is Amy. So are _you_. It's chilly outside."

        Beckett could tell he was making her uncomfortable. "Yeah, of course. Nevermind." He changed the subject. "You wanna go with me to your cousin's place?"

        "Why are you going over to Jodie's?" Stacy asked.

        "My brother asked me to. Seems they need me to do a reading for Quinn." Beckett checked his watch. "If we head over there now, I'll only be ten minutes late. Didn't know you were going to get detention, Miss Golden Gloves of 2004."

        Stacy was silent for a few seconds. "Um... a reading for Quinn?" She knew all about her boyfriend's psychometry ability.

        "Yeah."

        "What for?"

        As he spoke, Beckett looked for Amy, who should've been heading back from the vending machines. "Quinn wants me to read a videotape someone left in his mailbox. He's hoping I can tell who gave it to him."

        "A videotape?" Stacy gave off the impression that she thought the whole thing was really weird. "Do you think you can?"

        "I dunno. We'll find out."

        Stacy shifted around nervously. "Would you be able to see what was on the tape by doing a reading of it?"

        "Maybe. I'll probably get other impressions, though. Like, maybe who made it, or something," Beckett answered.

        "Oh? But... you probably wouldn't see what was on the tape..."

        "Just depends on what's the strongest vibe coming off the object." Shrugging, Beckett added, "I don't have a lot of control over it, you know."

        "I know." One of Stacy's legs started to bounce anxiously. "But, haven't you heard that rumor that's going around? About the videotape with a curse on it?"

        "Huh?"

        She explained the urban legend to him. "I heard that someone at Quinn's college saw the tape. So he could have it."

        Beckett just laughed. "I doubt a tape like that really exists."

        "Well, humor me, okay? If you start to see anything strange, like stuff that would be on a cursed videotape, throw the tape down. Alright? Just drop it," Stacy instructed. "Please?"

        Beckett gave her another kiss. "Sure, baby. I promise."

        For a moment, Stacy stared off into the distance, looking at an empty corner near the front doors of the school. She shuddered uncontrollably. Then she said, "Beckett, can we just get out of here this weekend? Get in the car and just drive?"

        "A road trip? Yeah, that sounds like fun. If my parents say it's okay." He looked around for Amy again. "Where do you wanna go?"

        "I don't care, just anywhere but here." Seeing Amy picking her way through the crowd of students, Stacy hopped down off the ledge. "We should just skip school altogether on Friday and head out Thursday night. Just fuckin' go."

        "We can't do that, Stace. I don't want to get in trouble."

        She stroked his arms. "Please, Beckett. Pleeeeease..."

        After a pause, Beckett asked in a concerned tone, "Babe, what's up with you?"

        Amy rejoined them, holding up her Coke. "Am I allowed to be in your presence now?"

        "Yes, we're done talking," Stacy declared. She gathered up her things. "Come on, we're going over to Jodie's."

        "Oh, yay! What we going there for?"

        Beckett was left with his hands open in a full-body shrug, watching his girlfriend walk away with her arm around her little sister. He hated when Stacy wouldn't talk to him.

        Another student heading for the school's front doors stopped in mid-stride to examine something she found in an empty corner. She thought one of the bathrooms on the second floor must have a leak, although she could see no water dripping from the ceiling. What other explanation was there for the puddle of dirty water on the floor?

  
it won't stop


	20. Day 20: Hot Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beckett performs a psychometric reading of Samara's videotape. The results are frightening.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 20: Hot Potato  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 20 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in September 2007.  
 **Word Count:** 3,983  
 **Summary:** Beckett performs a psychometric reading of Samara's videotape. The results are frightening.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #20 Master and Coclaim100 Prompt #20 Need.  
 **Author's Notes:** How this chapter fits the challenge prompts - Samara is the master of this situation, as you can see, and the need of several of these characters to escape her has become all they can think about.

  
         _Pretend everything is normal. Pretend everything is normal._

        It had become Quinn's mantra over the course of the day. From practically sleepwalking through his classes to convincing his parents that there was nothing wrong when he picked up his dog, Quinn had perfected the act that everything was totally normal in his life right now. Mundane. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. His professors were used to seeing exhausted, overstudied students in class; nothing strange there. And Quinn had been able to convince his parents that the dark circles under his eyes came from writing a paper at the last minute. His mom had bought it immediately, but his dad had looked at him suspiciously before finally accepting the explanation. Not without a parting comment, though.

        "You look like you haven't slept in days," his father said.

        Quinn had just laughed. The fact that it was true was inconsequential.

         _Pretend everything is normal._

        Quinn was trying, but as he approached the door of his apartment with Mukluk in tow, the feeling that he was being watched crept up his spine. Samara was standing behind him. He knew it. Following him. Stalking him.

        His hands shaking, Quinn fumbled out his keys. He wasn't sure why the little ghost girl scared him so bad... it was more what he felt the girl had the potential to do than what she had already done. Not that the intense nightmares hadn't been bad. And her creepy appearances. Then there was her habit of communicating by scratching on the wall and the furniture. A person would have to possess a pretty strong constitution _not_ to be freaked out at this point.

        Quinn was nearly startled out of his skin when Mukluk suddenly began to growl. The dog was looking behind his master, right where he had imagined Samara was. Quinn fearfully scrunched up his shoulders, cowering from the idea of turning around and looking.

        "Uh, Quinn?"

        He wasn't sure whether he should climb the wall in surprise or sigh with relief at the sound of Beckett's voice. Quinn turned to see the teen and his girlfriend, Stacy, along with Stacy's sister Amy standing there. They had tentatively stopped in their tracks when Mukluk started to growl at them.

        The dog held a protective stance. Quinn looked at them and wondered what was setting Mukluk off. He was acting just like he had the other day, when Samara was lurking in the corner of Quinn's parents' house. What the dog found threatening about the three teenagers, he had no idea.

        "Hey Beckett, Stacy, Amy." Quinn tried to calm down so his voice would stop shaking.

        "Why is your dog growling at us?" Amy asked. She stayed a step behind her sister out of fear of the big dog.

        Stacy just watched Mukluk with wide eyes. He was glaring mostly at her.

        Quinn yanked on the Malamute's leash. "Mukkie, stop that. There's nothing wrong with them."

        Mukluk knew his business. He went on snarling.

        Pulling the leash again, Quinn said, "I'll put him in my room. I don't know what's wrong with him. Sorry about this." He opened the door and dragged Mukluk inside. "Make yourselves at home. Mukluk, quit it."

        The dog went with him reluctantly, still glaring at the youths as they entered the apartment.

        "Maybe he smells our cat," Amy suggested with a shrug.

        Quinn opened the door to his bedroom. He was surprised to find Svetlana sleeping in his bed. "Well, looks like my bed was just right, Mukkie. It's Goldilocks. Svet, wake up! What are you doing here?" Quinn dragged his distracted dog into the room.

        Waking up, Svetlana scrubbed at her eyes. "Jodie let me in. I wait for you." She yawned, and noticed Mukluk's behavior. "What's wrong with him?"

        "I don't know; something about our visitors is spooking him. Remember I asked Gunnar to get his brother over here to do a reading of Samara's tape? He's here. Beckett brought a couple friends along."

        Svetlana hopped down off the bed. "I want to see this."

        "Okay." Quinn grabbed the videotape off his desk. "I'll have to leave Mukkie in here since he can't behave."

        "You think maybe he spooked by psychics?" Svet asked, throwing out a theory. "Dogs know stuff."

        "Nah. He's met Beckett. And he never reacted like this before." Encouraging Svet to exit first, Quinn released Mukluk's leash and scurried out of the room, closing the door quickly behind him. Mukluk began to scratch at the bottom of the door and whimper.

        Quinn was already talking as they walked into the living room. "I'm sorry about that. Mukkie's shut up in my room, so he won't hurt anybody. Not that he would anyway. He's more bark than bite. I really don't know why he growled at you."

        With a shrug of his own, Beckett reiterated Amy's theory. "Amy and Stace have a cat. Maybe he smelled it?"

        Quinn shook his head. "Mukkie loves cats. His favorite playmates. Likes to sit on 'em." He shrugged too. "He probably just smelled something he doesn't like. It doesn't matter. So... Gunnar wanted us to wait for him to get here before we started. Is that okay?"

        "Sure."

        "Oh, uh... this is Svetlana, my girlfriend," Quinn said, placing his hand on Svet's arm.

        Svetlana put on a little smile for their benefit. "Hi."

        "Svet, this is Gunnar's brother Beckett, and his girlfriend, Stacy, and her sister, Amy."

        The three teens waved and said hello.

        "Stacy and Amy are also Jodie's cousins."

        "Oh, that must have something to do with how you meet," Svetlana guessed.

        Beckett nodded. "Yeah, we met at a party Quinn threw last year. Quinn invited Gunnar, Gunnar brought me, Jodie invited Stacy... and, well..."

        "Hmm," Svet replied. "I was probably at party too. I think I see you all there."

        "I wasn't invited," Amy added, almost mumbling.

        Everyone fell quiet for a few seconds. Leaning over to Beckett, Stacy commented on the fact that they had walked up just as Quinn had arrived home. "And you thought we were going to be late."

        He shrugged, not speaking.

        Awkward silence again. They were running out of small talk.

        "Do you guys want something to drink?"

        The girls took a seat on the couch. "Sure, that'd be nice."

        While Quinn stepped into the kitchen to get them some soda pop, Stacy started asking questions, fidgeting noticeably. "What's this tape all about? The one you want Beckett to read."

        "Oh, geez... where to start..." They could hear Quinn dropping ice into glasses as he spoke to them from the kitchen. "Someone stuck it in my mailbox. We watched it and started having all these nightmares after - "

        "Don't tell me anymore," Beckett said suddenly. "Tell us about it after the reading, okay? I don't want the things you say to influence me. It's better if I read cold."

        "Oh, right," Quinn called back.

        Stacy flinched, and looked at Svetlana. "You watched the tape too?" she asked, assuming "we" meant Quinn and Svetlana.

        "Yeah."

        Biting her lower lip, Stacy finally uttered, "Oh."

        Svet opened her mouth to expound on the list of people who had seen this videotape, but Gunnar arrived at that moment, knocking loudly on the door. Instead of finishing the story, Svetlana let him in. Quinn came back into the living room with the glasses, handed them to the teens, and slapped hands with Gunnar. "Hey buddy."

        "Greetings, Q-man. I see the spawn have arrived." Gunnar reached over and smacked his little brother's head.

        Annoyed, Beckett smoothed down the part of his hair that Gunnar had upset. His hair had a habit of sticking up. "You really don't have to be here, you know."

        Gunnar grinned mischievously. "Quinn and Jodie are trying to play one of their horror jokes on me with this stupid cursed videotape thing. I want to be here when you get absolutely nothing off that tape so I can laugh in their faces."

        Quinn mocked his chuckles by imitating them in a dumber-sounding tone. "Laugh it up, Gunny Sack. I can't wait to see the look on _your_ face when Beckett says the tape is real."

        "Yeah, whatever. Hi Stace." Gunnar smiled big for Stacy's sister, whom he knew had a big crush on him. It was so cute, he couldn't resist fueling it, although he'd never return her feelings since she was so much younger than him. "Hiiii Amyyyyy," he sing-songed.

        She giggled behind her hand. "Hi Gunny Sack."

        Beckett put his drink down on the coffee table and stood up. "We kinda have some stuff to do, so let's get this show on the road, okay? Where's the tape?"

        Quinn picked it up from where he'd laid it down. "How does this work?"

        "Just give me the tape. I'll tell you what I get off of it." He held out his hand.

        Stacy tensed up considerably.

        For a second, Quinn hesitated, holding the tape out. He was worried reading the videotape might hurt Beckett somehow. Was it fair to give it to him, not knowing exactly how this power of Beckett's worked? Would reading the tape curse him to a week of nightmares and ghostly visitations? Quinn finally pushed it all out of his mind and placed the videotape in Beckett's hand with a sigh. They had to know.

        Since his abilities began, Beckett had been hearing a voice in his head that another psychic, a witch at a magick store who had done a tarot reading for him, had called his spirit guide. The voice spoke up when the pictures that ran through his head needed clarification.

        It also spoke up to warn him. _Hot potato._

        The voice, called Faulken, had codes. Beckett had learned from experience that _Hot potato_ meant an object had a bad history associated with it. Sometimes so bad that just touching it could be a very negative experience for him. Beckett had seen some pretty nasty mental images by holding onto things that Faulken had used this code for in the past. The guide's basic advice was to treat the videotape like one would treat a hot potato - just drop it.

        Beckett made a face of discomfort. The others watched him expectantly. The vibes coming off the tape began to seep from the cracks in the side and from under the top flap that protected the actual film, surrounding Beckett's hand and filling the space between his fingers. He'd never felt vibes this thick; they were almost tangible. Soupy.

         _Evil._

        Faulken again. The images on the tape, they are evil?

         _What the images do is evil._

        The vibes had become so thick around Beckett's hand that he wasn't even sure that he could drop the tape now even if he'd wanted to. What do the images do?

         _Curse._

        Wow. The curse is real? The tape really does something?

         _ **Hot potato.**_

        The guide's tone had become much more urgent. Faulken...

        Beckett felt something that was like tiny creatures slithering along the webs of skin between his fingers. An entirely new voice entered his head. The voice of a little girl.

         _"I can become people like you."_

        And then, Beckett was not alone inside his body.

         _"Charlotte calls it possession."_

        Beckett was no longer himself.

         _"I have to show you something."_

        The others were not aware of what was happening to Beckett. All they saw after he took the tape was him closing his eyes and concentrating, holding it lightly with one hand. Beckett slowly moved his fingers over the videotape while the others watched. He winced slightly, his expression troubled, and then opened his eyes.

        "Beckett?" Gunnar said. Something in his brother's eyes bothered him.

        Over the next few seconds, Beckett's face grew more and more alarmed. He looked around with an expression of confusion and childlike fear. Clutching the tape tightly to his chest, he turned to the wall and began clawing at it. "Mommy?" Beckett said, his voice small, like a child. "Mommy, why did you throw me down here? Mommy! Don't leave me here!"

        Everyone looked at each other, confused as well. The more Beckett said and did, the more concerned they became.

        "Mommy!" he screamed. Beckett tried to climb the wall. "It's dark down here! Why did you throw me in the well?! My head hurts, Mommy! You hurt me!" He started to cry hysterically with loud, childlike sobs. "Why did you hit me, Mommy? No! Don't leave! Don't leave me down here! Get me out! Mommy! Mommy!" Beckett frantically threw himself against the wall and continued to try to climb it, scratching and clawing desperately.

        Stacy, who jumped up from the couch and rushed to Beckett's aid, beat Gunnar to the punch. She grabbed Beckett and tried to take the tape from him. "Hold him, Gunnar!"

        Quinn watched helplessly, feeling responsible for what was happening. There wasn't much Amy felt she could do either.

        "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" Beckett screamed. He didn't see Gunnar or Stacy and certainly couldn't feel them wrestling with him - he was Samara. Beckett still had the videotape clutched against him; Gunnar tried to get a hold of his one flailing arm while Stacy attempted to pry the tape out of his other hand. "Please, Mommy, don't leave me down here! I love you! Don't you love me? I'm cold! It's dark! Ahhh, bugs! Bugs! They're in my hair!" cried Beckett.

        Svetlana, beginning to cry too, put her hands over her ears. "He's Samara," she sobbed. "He's Samara in the well."

        Quinn instantly put his arms around her. She was right; Beckett was acting out Samara trapped down in the well.

        "Goddamn it, give me that tape!" Stacy yelled in frustration. She had a hold of it, but couldn't get Beckett to let go.

        Determined to release his brother from the psychic reading gone wrong, Gunnar wrapped his arms around Beckett's chest, pinning his arms to his sides. "Get the friggin' thing!"

        Beckett screamed and carried on like a child having a tantrum, thrashing in his brother's arms.

        With her boyfriend partially immobilized, Stacy was able to get a better hold on the videotape and finally yanked it out of his grasp. She raised it over her head like she was going to throw it to the ground and smash it, but stopped herself at the last second. Instead, with a contemptuous look, Stacy tossed the videotape to Svetlana, who instinctively caught it, but then let out a whimper and chucked it to Quinn. He was barely able to catch it in one hand. Afterward, Quinn briefly wondered why they were being so protective of it.

        Once the tape was out of his hand, Beckett collapsed into his older brother's hold. Gunnar lowered him to the floor and started tapping on his cheeks with the pads of his fingers. "Beckett? Becks? Come on now, talk to me..."

        Stacy got down on her knees next to him. "Wake up, baby." She frantically shook her boyfriend.

        "Is he okay?!" asked Amy.

        Although the situation was still chaotic, Beckett was no longer screaming - Quinn could now hear his dog howling from the bedroom. He figured Mukluk reacted that way because he could sense Samara's presence. God knows Quinn could feel it.

        With a gasp, Beckett regained consciousness and flailed his arms wildly. His eyes were like a terrified animal. "God! No, no, what?! Help me!"

        Gunnar and Stacy both grabbed at him, trying to keep him from hurting them or himself, and worked to calm him down. "Beckett, it's okay! You're safe! The reading's over."

        His eyes darting around, Beckett took in his surroundings, obviously disoriented. He touched one of his eyes and looked at his wet fingers. "I've been crying."

        "Yeah. The reading went bad," Gunnar explained. "But you're okay now."

        "Does that happen a lot?" Quinn questioned. His tone was sheepish; he felt guilty. "Readings going bad?"

        "No. It's rare," Gunnar answered with a shake of his head.

        Quinn cringed. "I'm sorry."

        Shaking his head again, Gunnar said, "Don't feel bad. It just goes that way sometimes."

        "What do you remember, Beckett?" asked Stacy.

        He sat up. His hands were still shaking a little. "I was Samara Morgan."

        Svetlana burst into fresh, heavy tears. Quinn held her again, patting her back.

        "Is she alright?" Beckett asked.

        "Not really," Quinn replied, and shrugged. "But go on."

        "When I held the tape, I became the girl who made it. Samara Morgan. Her mother threw her into a well and put this cement cap on it. She left her there to die. The kid was so terrified down there... I could feel her fear." Swallowing hard, Beckett finished, "And betrayal."

        Quinn looked at Gunnar, folding his arms. "Did you tell him anything?"

        Gunnar shook his head. "Nothing. He got it all off the tape." Looking at his brother, he let out a shaky breath and exclaimed, "Holy shit. There really is something to this."

        "She want us to know how she suffer," sobbed Svetlana with a loud sniffle. "That's why she make Beckett act out what happen in the well. Samara wants us to suffer like she suffered, so the world understand how much she hurt." She began to sob harder, inconsolable. "She going to drag us down there with her."

        Quinn pulled her into him and put her head on his chest. She just cried. "Samara's not going to take you anywhere. I won't let her."

        "How you keep it from happening?!" Svetlana suddenly yelled, snapping at him. "She got you just as messed up as me! What can you do to protect us?!" Before Quinn could even attempt to answer, Svetlana stormed off down the hall to his bedroom. She went in and slammed the door behind her.

        Quinn had not felt this helpless and inadequate in a long time.

        Beckett, shifting his eyes from the hallway to Quinn, commented, "That was harsh."

        Brooding silently for a short time, Quinn finally turned from the empty hallway and sighed. "Ever since we watched that videotape, our lives have been seriously disrupted. We've been having nightmares so bad that neither of us can sleep. Svetlana's roommate wants to take her to a church and practically have her exorcized. It's all because of this little girl named Samara Morgan. She's real, Beckett."

        "I know," he replied simply.

        "Of course you know. You're the psychic," Quinn said, rolling his eyes again at the fact that he hadn't picked up on that.

        Beckett couldn't help but smile.

        "Anyway, you said that Samara made the tape. We're not talking about her breaking out the camera crew, are we? She's got some kind of power to make it happen."

        "Yeah," Beckett nodded. "How do you think she sends you the dreams?"

        Quinn remembered the blond guy with the shotgun saying that, that Samara was "sending" the dreams to them. "Putting the dreams into our heads... so she can project stuff from her mind onto videotape too?"

        "I don't know what you'd call the kid's ability, but she can project whatever she can come up with onto any kind of recording media. My guide just told me that," explained Beckett. He pointed to his head.

        Quinn had been told about Beckett's spirit guide in the past. He'd never really thought about the things Gunnar had told him about his little brother's psychometry, at least not in practical use, until now. "I can't believe we're talking about this. Little girls who can imagine shit onto videotapes? Is this really happening?" If he hadn't liked Beckett, Quinn would have added how much it freaked him out that a regular teenage boy could have a spirit guide, one that fed him information from who knew where.

        "It's happening, Quinn. It's crazy, but it's all real. In fact, Faulken says that the curse on the tape is real, too. You guys are under its spell right now."

        Glad that Svetlana hadn't been there to hear that, Quinn nervously asked, "What does the curse do?"

        Beckett listened to something the rest of them couldn't hear. "Puts you at Samara's mercy," he replied.

        Quinn, sighing again, said, "Great." He looked at the videotape, still in his hands. For a moment, he wanted to smash the thing for causing him so much trouble, but he didn't - Quinn didn't know who had given him the tape yet. Maybe he'd need it to figure that out. "Beckett..." He looked up. "Did you find out who sent me the tape?"

        "No. No, I'm sorry, there was nothing in there about that."

        Stacy quickly cut in. "Did you see any cursed images?"

        Beckett answered, "No," again, shaking his head.

        "Good." She seemed relieved as she gave him a small kiss.

        Standing up, Gunnar ran his hands through his hair. "You're telling me there really is a _curse_ on that thing? That's even possible?"

        "That's what Faulken says," replied Beckett.

        "But... a curse? On a videotape? A _curse?_ "

        "Yes," Beckett replied with irritation.

        With a wide-eyed look of disbelief, Gunnar admitted, "I guess I was wrong." A second later, he added, "Curses are _real?!_ "

        This time, both Beckett and Stacy barked, "Yes!"

        "Well..." Gunnar turned to his best friend. "I guess I owe you an apology, buddy."

        Quinn, however, was not satisfied; he still had his mind on figuring out who had given him the tape. "If you did another reading, do you think you could see who - "

        "Are you nuts?" Stacy snapped. "You saw what happened. He's not doing another reading, no way."

        Chewing on a fingernail, he almost pursued it further. "But... I gotta know who did this to me. Why did they want to hurt me like this? I - " Quinn stammered over what he wanted to say and finally gave up, waving it all off dismissively. "Forget it."

        Beckett got to his feet. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Quinn. You deserve to know who did this to you."

        Waving him off again, he said, "Don't worry about it. You did your best." Quinn tried to smile. "Any idea what Svet and I are supposed to do for the rest of our week?"

        Beckett shrugged. "Wait it out."

*****

        After Gunnar and the others had left, Quinn went into his bedroom to check on Svetlana. She had fallen asleep on his bed. Mukluk had climbed up onto the bed and lay down next to her, but he stayed wary, lifting his head and laying back his ears when Quinn entered. Quinn came over and patted the dog's head.

        "Protecting your mistress, huh? Good dog. Good doggie. You okay?" Quinn quietly sat on the edge of the bed. He watched Svetlana sleep for several moments. "Sorry, baby. I'm stumbling around in the dark here. I wish I knew what to do." Softly stroking her hair, Quinn whispered, "I'd make it all stop if I knew how."

  
it won't stop


	21. Day 21: Anxiety Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svetlana has a dream of the girls from the wells that pulls in not only Jodie, but Dean Winchester. In it, she learns something very important about him. Vanessa and Vicki have an AIM conversation in which Vanessa tries none too delicately to find out what Vicki could be up to.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 21: Anxiety Dream  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 21 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in November 2007.  
 **Word Count:** 4,118  
 **Summary:** Svetlana has a dream of the girls from the wells that pulls in not only Jodie, but Dean Winchester. In it, she learns something very important about him. Vanessa and Vicki have an AIM conversation in which Vanessa tries none too delicately to find out what Vicki could be up to.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #21 Brutal and Coclaim100 Prompt #21 Broken.  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Rekka for her help with the Japanese.  
I keep meaning to note that Mysteria is a word from the Def Leppard song "Hysteria." Def Leppard have nothing to do with this story; I just really like the word. :D  
A note for _Supernatural_ fans: Remember when Andy from season 2 sent mental images to Dean? That is one function of thoughtography (in Japanese, 'nensha'), the power possessed by Sadako, Samara, and the others. Remember also how it caused Dean intense pain? I'm keeping that too. :D  
In _Ring 0: Birthday_ , when Sadako used her powers, it could be caught on audio tape as a high-pitched whine, like feedback. Samara's videotape contained a high-pitched whine. This sound will be referenced in the entire story, including this chapter.  
The IM conversation near the end was deliberately typed with mistakes to make it seem more like a real IM conversation. In some places, I just didn't fix my typos, hee.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Beautiful day. Unseasonably warm, blue skies, light breeze. The streets were deserted, though. That was strange. No one in sight except Svetlana sitting on a park bench, hunched over, a hand to her eyes. She was talking on her cell phone in what Jodie thought was Dutch.

        As she got closer, she realized that Svetlana sounded like she'd been crying. Eesh, this was awkward. Just before Jodie reached her, Svet said something in an angry tone and abruptly snapped the phone shut. She let out a long, shaky sigh.

        "Svetlana?"

        The Dutch girl turned to her. "Oh, Jodie." She pointed to her head. "What's with the...?"

        Jodie ran a hand through her hair and felt a large pair of headphones, the type that covered a person's entire ears. They were askew on her head. "Yeah, uh, me and Professor McNeal are analyzing the videotape. We can hear all the background sounds better with these on."

        "Oh." Svetlana stopped talking and gazed across the plaza of the university she and the others attended, just staring at a fountain. "Find anything useful yet?"

        "Not really," Jodie replied sheepishly.

        "Hm."

        There was a short, clumsy silence between them. Fidgeting and rocking on her heels, Jodie commented, "I never really thought about it before, but you speak more than one language, huh?"

        "Yes. English, Dutch, and Russian."

        "You speak Russian? Wow. I didn't know that."

        "My mother and grandmother are Russian," explained Svetlana. She smiled a little. "Where you think 'Svetlana' come from?"

        "It isn't a Dutch name, is it?" Jodie laughed.

        "No, it is not."

        Another uncomfortable silence. "Who were you talking to on the phone?"

        Instead of answering, Svetlana waved the question off with obvious irritation.

        "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry." Silence. Just the sound of the wind blowing softly. Jodie surmised that it must be someone from back home; who else would Svet speak to in Dutch? "So where's Quinn?"

        "In the shower."

        "Oh." Why couldn't they talk without Quinn being there? Things were so weird between them without him around. Jodie wished things could be different. She breathed out a regretful sigh and found herself saying, "We're never going to be friends, are we?"

        Svetlana seemed to think it over; Jodie saw her shoulders tense and then relax. "I don't think so," the Dutch girl replied quietly.

        Her shoulders slumping, Jodie looked down at the ground and dug the toe of her sneaker into a crack in the sidewalk. She began, "I - "

        "Jodie?" interrupted a disembodied male voice.

        Svetlana didn't recognize it, but Jodie looked up at the sound of the voice. "Oh, crap, Professor McNeal! I must've fallen asleep!" she said, and ran back toward the university.

        With a confused look, Svetlana turned to ask Jodie what she was talking about. "What do you mean you..." She stopped and looked up, realizing that the light was leaving the sky. The sun sank below the horizon as if the clock had been sped up, rendering it completely dark outside within seconds. It sent chills up her spine to see the sky become black so quickly. "Oh God. Quinn, why you have to be in the shower? I wish you were here."

        The streetlights did not switch on, like they should after the sun had gone down. Svetlana walked toward Quinn and Jodie's apartment in the dark. She grew more apprehensive with every step she took; she couldn't help but anticipate that something was going to happen to her out here, alone, with her barely able to see her hand in front of her face.

        The streetlight she was walking past came on with a loud buzzing sound. Svetlana squealed and recoiled from it. She put a hand to her heart, letting out a little hysterical laugh. To be afraid of a streetlight... she felt so silly... until she noticed the fly meandering around on the surface of the light cover. Going around and around in a circle as the fluorescent bulb flickered.

        The dread was thick as molasses. Svetlana knew even before she turned to run that someone would be blocking her path.

        The girl standing there was taller than Samara. Old-fashioned white dress covered in streaks of grime and what could have been blood, long black hair hanging over her eyes... definitely older than Samara. The hair obscuring her face concealed her identity, but Svetlana doubted she would have known who the girl was even if she had been able to see her features. Just like Samara, she was dripping wet.

        "She wants your boyfriend," the girl said. Svetlana heard a wicked smile in her voice. "That's why you can never be friends." The girl, Charlotte, paused before taunting, "What if you die and he lives? Do you think they'll get back together?"

        Wanting no part of this, Svetlana turned to run another way and found Charlotte there too. She should have known that she couldn't escape until they were done playing with her. "You can't be allowed to go. You're meddling. Why couldn't you just mind your own business?"

        Svetlana didn't understand what she was feeling; she had the distinct impression that she had just jumped into someone else's body. This wasn't happening to her. It was happening... _going to_ happen... to another girl. Acting out the part, Svet darted around Charlotte and ran into the trees beyond.

        "You can't get away," Charlotte laughed. "We won't have our dog taken from us."

        Samara's voice now invaded her mind. _"Run, rabbit, run. Through the woods and trees to your burrow. Maybe you can make it to safety."_

        Splashing through one end of a culvert filled with rainwater, Svetlana attempted to make it to the road. Leafy branches whipped at her face and arms as she tried to push them out of the way. Gotta get to the road, flag down a car. Escape from the crazy bitches.

         _"Run, rabbit, run. I'm going to show you something. And you know you're not going to like it."_

        Svet caught a glimpse of Samara through the trees. Just a quick flash of white dress and dark, wet hair. Standing there, looming, stalking. The child enjoyed this.

        Looking to her left, Svet caught sight of a different person standing among the trees. It was the kid, Gunnar's little brother. What was his name? Beckett? Just standing there, grinning like he knew something. A split second later, he changed into Samara, and then disappeared altogether. What was that about?

        A horrible feeling crept up Svetlana's spine; she realized that Samara was not alone out here. There was even more of them in the woods. Vanessa had mentioned that there was more than one cursed tape, and the T.A., Akemi, told Jodie about an almost identical urban legend from Japan that concerned a girl named Sadako. Is that who was causing those awful sensations of a presence out there, unseen, a black hole skulking among the trees? _"Jigoku wa genjitsu da,"_ she said on the wind. And then in clipped English, _"Hell is real."_

        Another one moved between two trees, pausing long enough for Svetlana to get a look at her, but only for a brief time. Long white dress covered in dirt, long dark hair obscuring her face. These ghosts, they frightened their victims by cultivating a sinister visage of that which is unseen. Even Svetlana was simultaneously curious and terrified to know what was under all that hair.

        The girl that Svet stood in for was not at all curious. Just afraid. All she wanted was to escape. But the well bitches were everywhere.

        These girls were going to band together and go after someone, a person they felt threatened by. Svetlana wished she knew who so she could warn her.

         _"Run, rabbit, run. Maybe you can make it to safety,"_ Samara taunted. _"But I doubt it."_

        The road was right up ahead. Svetlana ran for it, but she didn't make it. Instead, someone turned in front of her and she ran headlong into his chest.

         _Beckett!_

        But no, it wasn't him. Svetlana ran right into Dean Winchester.

        She let out a squeal of surprise and then realized who it was. "You!"

        Dean had one of his shotguns in his hand. He looked at Svetlana like he'd never seen her before. "Are you in danger, miss?"

        "Hell yes I'm in danger! Those girls are here! The ghosts!" She kept close to Dean, her fingers wrapped into a tight fist bunched up in his T-shirt. "Whole bunch of 'em!"

        Dean warily scanned the nearby stand of trees, holding the gun ready. "What do they look like?"

        In confusion, Svetlana looked up at him and said, "You know! You shoot Samara in the face. She was in well, remember?"

        Now it was Dean's turn to look confused. "Who's Samara?"

        Svet, frustrated, opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, heard a soft, comforting female voice whispering in her ear. The voice said only a few words and phrases, but they filled Svetlana's mind with understanding. _"Dreams. Symbols. Hoped it would help somehow. The real thing. Mysteria."_

        Desperate with the knowledge that her time was limited, Svetlana grabbed Dean by the shirt and shook him. The motion barely moved him, being that he was twice her size, but it still got his attention. "You listen to me! My name Svetlana Van Curen. My boyfriend is Quinn Kirkland. We live in suburb of Boston, Massachusetts. And we have dreams about you. Some person or ghost or... something... named Mysteria put you in dreams as a symbol because she hope it would help us. Quinn is lost in denial half the time, but he always do that when things get weird. I _know_ we're in real danger here. If you don't come, Samara will kill us!"

        Seeing her eyes fill with tears, Dean put his free hand on her shoulder. "Hey, calm down. I deal with dangerous ghosts all the time. I can help you."

        "I think that's why Mysteria do this, because you were meant to stop Samara. You don't remember what happen in the dreams before because you were just symbol. But this time, you're really here! It's just like when we dream of Quinn's funeral; we were all asleep at same time. Somewhere out there, you're asleep, and you dream right along with me. You're the real thing."

        Dean looked up sharply. Leaves and shrubs rustled in the grouping of trees nearby. He felt more than one dark presence out there; some things were so evil, they gave off vibes that were almost tangible. The entities sucked at the air like miniature black holes, as if they wanted to drag both him and the girl back to their lair. "You don't understand," Dean began. "I've seen this pattern before. The really evil fuckers out there... helpless, beautiful girl running through the forest... I dream stuff like this all the time. I won't be able to save you. Sammy calls them my anxiety dreams. People in my line of work always fear they're going to fail. Even my dad has dreams like this. It's just how we work it out." He shrugged.

        Svetlana shook her head vigorously. "No! This dream is different! Look, if this one of your anxiety dreams, would you _know_ it was anxiety dream?"

        Blinking, he replied, "Uh... I never have in the past... not until I woke up."

        "You see?"

        Samara stepped out of the shrubs. Leaves crunched under her bare, grey feet.

        While Svetlana gasped in fear, Dean calmly furrowed his brow at the little girl, who looked more like she was being broadcast in by satellite than she was real flesh and blood, as if the child was made of television waves. At times, Samara looked solid, and the next second, she wavered like a bad connection. Dean didn't think he could behead her or slice her apart, but the shotgun should work just fine. He didn't need to see her face through all that hair to know a ghost when he saw one.

        "What up, Cousin Itt?" he said confidently. Always snarky and arrogant in the face of evil. That was how he coped, even when he knew he was bound to fail.

        Samara's response was not to acknowledge his quip, but to begin singing one of her songs. _"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby. When you wake, you'll have cake, and all the pretty little horses..."_

        Dean started to answer her with another barb. Knowing they had little time to talk, Svet cut him off. "Now, while you have chance, tell me your - " She gagged loudly. An object obstructed her throat. "Your na - " Svetlana put her hands to her neck.

        "Are you okay?" Dean asked, and patted her back hard.

        The gagging and coughing rapidly became choking. "Your na... Your _name_."

         _"All the pretty little horses..."_

        "You're choking!" He reached for Svet to help her, but suddenly grabbed his own head and winced in pain. "Son of a bitch! Where is that feedback coming from?! Fuck, that hurt!"

        She tried one more time. " _Name!_ " With that, Svetlana's voice was cut off by the object suddenly present in her throat. It was just like when Quinn coughed up the rosary. Now she knew just how terrified and helpless he'd felt.

        Shaking his head to try to clear it, Dean acknowledged that he'd heard Svetlana by starting to answer her, but was shocked into silence when a silver ring and hook emerged from her mouth. A thin leather strap was attached to the ring. Only an inch of it was currently visible. Although she could not speak, Svetlana communicated everything she wanted to say with her eyes. She wasn't going to let him get distracted by Samara's little diversionary tactic; before Svet would allow him to do anything else, Dean needed to tell her his name. "I'm - "

        Svetlana shot up in Quinn's bed with the scream of, _"Dean!"_ muffled in the back of her throat. She was shocked to find that the object choking her in her dream also existed in her waking life. The hook, ring, and strap hung partway out of her mouth. She made horrifying choking and gagging noises while pulling it out; it was hard to be careful and slow with the object still choking her and cutting off her air. When it seemed the strap's length might never cease, Svet fell on the floor by the bed on her knees and doubled over. Her entire body was wracked with heaves.

        Mukluk had been lying on the bathroom floor outside the shower while his master bathed, but when he heard Svetlana's sounds of distress, he started to bark and scratch at the door.

        The length of the strap eventually ended. Svetlana looked at it lying on the floor and soon realized she was looking at about twelve inches of a rein from a horse's bridle. She had just thrown up part of a leather bridle.

        The thought, _"Is the rest of the bridle inside me too, just waiting to come up?"_ ran through her mind, and even though she was still trying to get her breath back, Svetlana burst into a hysterical laugh. It turned into upset tears. "Dean!" she screamed. "Deeeeeean!"

        Quinn came running into the room. He'd barely wrapped a towel around his waist and was dripping wet. "Svetlana, what's going on? Are you okay?!"

        "Dean! DEAN!"

        Quinn got down on the floor next to her. "What happened?! Who's Dean?"

        She pointed to the rein. "I just throw that up. I dream it."

        "Oh, God, Svet... Samara did it again." He brushed tears from her face with the backs of his fingers. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

        "It wouldn't have mattered if you were there. You don't know how to save us. You not even admit to yourself that we're going to die!" Svetlana yelled angrily. "Only Dean know what to do."

        "Dean?" It suddenly dawned on him who she was talking about. "The blond guy we've been dreaming about?"

        "Yes. He do this kind of thing all the time. It's his job."

        Quinn rolled his eyes in jealousy. His girlfriend had more faith in a tall, gorgeous, older man than him. "People don't do stuff like this for a living, Svet. That's crazy. How do you know his name, anyway? Did he tell you in the dream?"

        "Yes, and Dean _do_ exist. I told him our full names, and he's going to find us." Unable to help it, she started to cry again. "He _will_ get here in time."

        A few minutes earlier, Jodie had awakened upon feeling someone shaking her by the shoulder. She raised her head up off her arms and stretched. "Oh, crap, Professor McNeal. I must've fallen asleep." The headphones were askew on her head.

        Professor McNeal took his seat at the console in the Audiovisual room and set down his mug of coffee. "That's alright. Did you not sleep well?"

        "Quinn and Svetlana kept me up half the night."

        He considered that. "Strange that they're having rather intense nightmares, but we're still experiencing virtually nothing."

        "Yeah, it is weird," Jodie agreed.

        The professor put his hands back on the various little black knobs of the video console. "Shall we get back to it, then? Maybe we can end this for them."

*****

        Hundreds of miles away, Dean Winchester sat up in his hotel bed and sighed.

        His father was setting the small TV tray for dinner. "Hello, sleeping beauty. You hungry?"

        Ah, how Dean loved the smell of roast beef. Arby's again. "You have to ask?" He stood up and stretched. "I just had the weirdest dream."

        "Did it have anything to do with the sirens we're tracking? Sometimes they sing to you in your dreams." John Winchester set out a plastic fork for each of them.

        "No." Dean raised an eyebrow. "There was singing involved, but these were _definitely_ not sirens." He grinned. "Curly fries. Yum."

*****

        After Svetlana calmed down, Quinn went back to the bathroom to finish his shower - he hadn't wanted to leave her, but she insisted so she could be alone for a little while. She hadn't felt this broken since...

        Svet took out her cell phone, selected a number, and just stared at the display for a full minute before sending the call.

        The display had indicated that the number to be called belonged to someone in Holland.

         _Ashly._

*****

 **Vanessa7days [6:22PM]:** Those students from Boston uploaded a new pic to the board today.

 **Antici PationV [6:22PM]:** really? I haven't been there yet. What's it of?

 **Vanessa7days [6:24PM]:** Hard to describe. Samara standing against a wall. They put a whole story on the board to go with it. It's this totally narly thing about Samara actualy coming to their room and scratching on the walls to scare them. They claim they communicated w/ her using a system of scratchings. Once for yes, twice for no, that kind of thing.

 **Antici PationV [6:24PM]:** you're kidding!!! What's she say?

 **Antici PationV [6:24PM]:** what'd

 **Vanessa7days [6:25PM]:** that if they didn't do something 4 her, she was going to kill 'em

 **Vanessa7days [6:25PM]:** They're scared shitless *eg*

 **Antici PationV [6:27PM]:** you haven't told them yet

 **Vanessa7days [6:27PM]:** Told them what?

 **Antici PationV [6:27PM]:** How to escape the curse

 **Vanessa7days [6:28PM]:** Nope. What's it to you?

 **Antici PationV [6:28PM]:** It just seems cruel, is all.

 **Vanessa7days [6:28PM]:** i told you I'd take care of it. Stay out of it, ok?

 **Vanessa7days [6:30PM]:** OKAY?

 **Antici PationV [6:30PM]:** yeah

 **Vanessa7days [6:30PM]:** what's the probelm?

 **Antici PationV [6:30PM]:** Nothing.

 **Vanessa7days [6:30PM]:** How is this any different from any other newbie who comes on the board and suffers thru their 7 days while we sit back and watch?

 **Antici PationV [6:30PM]:** I don't know, I just don't think being the kids who sit in the back an blow spitballs at the person giving their oral report is that much fun anymore.

 **Vanessa7days [6:31PM]:** So youre better than that now?

 **Antici PationV [6:31PM]:** it's not that. I just feel sorry for them

 **Vanessa7days [6:31PM]:** You feel horny for him

 **Antici PationV [6:31PM]:** Shut up

 **Vanessa7days [6:31PM]:** It's like Kyle all over again. Fucking Kyle.

 **Vanessa7days [6:32PM]:** what r u going to do about it?

 **Antici PationV [6:32PM]:** nothing.

 **Vanessa7days [6:33PM]:** What are u planning, you stupid fatass fuck?

 **Antici PationV [6:33PM]:** _What_ did you just say to me????!!!1

 **Vanessa7days [6:33PM]:** You think I don't know about your little pact with the pretty boy??!!

 **Antici PationV [6:33PM]:** Who?!

 **Vanessa7days [6:33PM]:** That's real convincing, pretending you don't know. Mr Blond Shotgun Dude, the hunk they've all been dreaming about.

 **Antici PationV [6:33PM]:** I don't know what you're talking about! Don't talk to me ;ike that, okay? I'm not planning anything!

 **Vanessa7days [6:34PM]:** BULLSHIT. Samara gave me a little present today. She sent me a dream. In it, you and the Blond were plotting together. Whispering behind my back. What the fuck is his name?

 **Antici PationV [6:34PM]:** I don't know! I Don't know him!

 **Vanessa7days [6:34PM]:** I dont beleive you, bitch

 **Antici PationV [6:34PM]:** I'm telling the TRUTH!!!

 **Vanessa7days [6:34PM]:** Then what was this dream supposed to mean?

 **Antici PationV [6:34PM]:** Maybe it was just something you're worried about coming out in a dream. Like an anxiety dream.

 **Vanessa7days [6:34PM]:** I don't ever worry about what YOU'RE going to do, pleb.

 **Antici PationV [6:35PM]:** Then why are you biting my head off now? You obviously DO worry about what I'm going to do.

 **Vanessa7days [6:35PM]:** Don't flatter yourself.

 **Antici PationV [6:35PM]:** Just pointing out the obvious.

 **Vanessa7days [6:35PM]:** Fuck you

 **Antici PationV [6:35PM]:** Right back at you.

 **Vanessa7days [6:36PM]:** I will BURY you on the board, do you understand me? You are DEAD to everone there. When I'm thru w/ you, you'll WISH Samara finished you off.

 **Antici PationV [6:36PM]:** GODDAMNIT, Vanessa, I DIDNT DO ANYTHING. I DON'T know him!!! It was jut a dream!!!

 **Vanessa7days [6:37PM]:** That's your story and your sticking to it?

 **Antici PationV [6:37PM]:** Yes. It's the truth.

 **Vanessa7days [6:37PM]:** I should've known you couldn't attract the attention of a guy that good-looking.

 **Antici PationV [6:38PM]:** Whatever, yes, exactly

 **Vanessa7days [6:38PM]:** You swear you're not up to any shit?

 **Antici PationV [6:38PM]:** I swear.

 **Vanessa7days [6:38PM]:** You'll swear on a stack of bibles?

 **Antici PationV [6:39PM]:** as soon as I stop crying

 **Vanessa7days [6:39PM]:** oh boohoo, cry me a river

 **Antici PationV [6:39PM]:** brutal bitch

 _Antici PationV signed off at 6:39PM._

  
it won't stop


	22. Day 22: You will Drink Coke and Die in Seven Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodie and Professor McNeal discover something shocking about Samara's videotape. Beckett tries to find out why Stacy is cutting herself again.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 22: You will Drink Coke and Die in Seven Days  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 22 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in December 2007-January 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 3,346  
 **Summary:** Jodie and Professor McNeal discover something shocking about Samara's videotape. Beckett tries to find out why Stacy is cutting herself again.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter contains references to self-harm and light sexual content.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #22 Leash and Coclaim100 Prompt #22 Too Much.  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Moosie for giving me her impressions on how subliminal messages work. I needed to make sure that my perceptions were correct, and she acted as my Q &A guinea pig.

  
        After two straight hours of going through every frame on Samara's videotape, Jodie couldn't help but let out a mighty yawn.

        Professor McNeal chuckled at her. "We aren't boring you with our bone-chilling terror, are we?"

        "Sorry." Jodie scrubbed at her eyes. "It's only boring when you look at it frame-by-frame. But we're done, aren't we?"

        The professor sighed as if something disturbed him. "Yes, we are. Jodie, you had a very good theory. I would have thought subliminal messages were the most likely explanation, but..." He gave her a small, apologetic smile. "...there are no subliminal messages on this tape."

        The expression on her face showed both disappointment and surprise, as if she had been partially expecting things to turn out this way but, at the same time, realized the alternate explanation was impossible. How could this _not_ be the reason? "How do you know that?"

        "Because if there were any subliminal messages on the tape, we would have seen them in the frame-by-frame."

        "Am I missing something here? I thought these kinds of messages were indiscernible by the conscious mind."

        "When the tape is played at normal speed, yes, you don't even know they're there. But when you view each frame... look, here's how it works." He turned sideways in his chair to face Jodie. "If you want to put a subliminal message on a videotape, you have to splice in a few frames with the message on them. You repeat this just enough times to keep it below the radar but still make an impression on the subconscious mind. The viewer doesn't see the message while they're watching the tape, but their subconscious perceives it."

        "You can't implant a subliminal message through all those weird pictures of mirrors and horses and stuff?" Jodie asked.

        "No, the images cannot convey the message on their own; they don't illustrate any instructions. There would have to be at least one frame that instructed the viewer what to do in a one-word or very brief phrase," Professor McNeal explained. "If we're talking about Samara's tape, a good example would be a message saying, 'Hallucinate.' The creepy images surrounding this message would serve as a perfectly good suggestion of what to hallucinate. Another message might be, 'Have nightmares' or 'Do not sleep.' Or 'Draw.' All would cause the odd symptoms your friends are having."

        "So, another message might be, 'You will die in seven days'?"

        "Right. And that implants the countdown clock in the viewer's head. People naturally fear death, which starts them on a spiral of terror that lasts the whole week."

        Jodie's face reflected her clear astonishment at just how much power over the human mind could be wielded with this method. "Has anyone ever really done anything like this before?"

        "Like your theory? Not that I know of. But there have been experiments done with subliminal messages. Mostly involving advertising," the professor replied.

        "So, 'You will drink Coke and die in seven days'?"

        He laughed. "Pretty much."

        Jodie looked at the monitor screen of the A/V equipment, which still showed the paused image of the well in the clearing. "If my theory makes so much sense, then why doesn't the tape go along with it? There _should_ be subliminal messages on this tape."

        Professor McNeal sighed and turned back to the console. "Yes, that would be the most logical explanation. But it doesn't cover everything, does it? Your friends were dreaming about details of Samara Morgan's life before they even knew them, things that weren't alluded to on the tape. And we've now looked over every frame and not found a single message."

        "Is it possible Akemi missed some?"

        "No. She used a computer program that takes the stills for you, and even ran it twice. There's little margin for error."

        Picking up her headphones, Jodie said, "What about audio messages? I know we've listened to the soundtrack forwards at more than one speed, but what about backwards?"

        The professor put his headphones back on, too. "No time like the present."

        Listening to the tape backwards at normal and slow speeds yielded a clearly spoken phrase in a deep, watery, male voice. "Frolic in brine, goblins be thine," it said.

        Jodie bounced in her chair, an excited light in her eyes. "Did you hear it? A subliminal message!"

        Stopping the tape, Professor McNeal shook his head. "It's backwards masking, but it's not a subliminal message. There's nothing instructional about it. Have your friends been doing any frolicking in the ocean?"

        "No..."

        "Have they been taking baths in pickle juice?" he joked.

        Jodie giggled as she said, "No," again, and then continued, "It said, 'Frolic in brine, goblins be thine.' What does that mean?"

        "A warning?" He again shook his head, uncertain. "Perhaps it refers to the deaths of the horses."

        Jodie, nodding, added, "They ran to the ocean."

        "Yes."

        When they had gone through the entire tape, she sighed in disappointment. "There are no subliminal messages," Jodie said, bewildered.

        "No," the professor confirmed.

        "Professor McNeal, how can that be? If it's not done by subliminal messages, then how does the tape work?"

        Unsure what sort of beliefs the girl held, Professor McNeal proceeded with some tentativeness. "The only other explanation that I can come up with that comes close to clarifying all that's happened is the contents of the videotape are supernatural in origin."

        Jodie, blinking, glared at the professor in silence for a few seconds. "Super... what?" She let out a small, nervous laugh. "Are you saying that we're all going to _die?_ "

        "No, no," Professor McNeal replied, shaking his head. "The people from this message board watched the same tape and they are still alive. I'm not worried about that. What I'm saying is that whoever made this tape has some abilities of mind control. They put something like an _invisible_ subliminal message on the tape. Because that is not a normal human ability, we call it supernatural."

        "Do you really believe that people can do things like that?"

        Raising an eyebrow at her, the professor said, "You _did_ see the plaque on my office door? Jodie, I'm a _demonologist_. Believing in some aspects of the supernatural comes with the territory."

        "So we're still dealing with a form of subliminal message?" she asked.

        He nodded. "Yes. A form of hypnosis attacking the subliminal mind."

        With another pause, Jodie shook her head. "I don't know. I mean, I believe in ghosts. I think I saw one once. But proof that a dead girl could have this kind of control over the living through technology..."

        "Why not? Because it's too modern? Because we expect everything concerning ghosts to be antique?"

        "Exactly," she immediately replied.

        "Well, perhaps this ghost finds the convenience of modern technology to be an excellent way to spread her message. As the world changes, so does the world of the dead, maybe?" Professor McNeal shrugged. "Or maybe we're dealing with someone who knew Samara and felt sorry for her."

        Sighing, Jodie rubbed her eyes. "This is crazy. I thought I believed in this kind of stuff, but people who can put curses on videotapes...? It's too much to accept."

        "Maybe calling it a curse is going too far. I prefer to call it mind control. It sounds more believable," he laughed.

        "But, it's like you just said - you're a demonologist. You're being almost as skeptical as I am."

        Professor McNeal gave her a small grin. "Jodie, most 'possessions' involve people with mental problems. I've seen very few authentic cases of demonic possession. A great deal of my job involves research, study, and the writing of manuscripts based on what I find. There is something out there, but it comes after us much more infrequently than movies and television would have you believe.

        "I know a lot of people who disagree with me, who think we are literally under attack by supernatural forces. I haven't seen as much action as they have, so I don't know. Perhaps we have to see it for ourselves before we will believe." He finished with a light shrug.

        At the time, it was too much for Jodie to believe, and she was tired from the lack of sleep the night before. She didn't want to think about how the tape worked anymore; she just wanted to go home and take a nap. "I guess. I've got to go now. I'll keep you up-to-date on - "

        Professor McNeal interrupted her when he saw Akemi walk by the window, head down, clutching her books to her chest. "Akemi!"

        Akemi kept walking.

        Being that Jodie's chair was on wheels, she rolled it to the window and knocked on the glass. "Akemi!"

        Startled, Akemi looked up with a surprised expression. Both Jodie and Professor McNeal saw the dark circles under her eyes and the haggard appearance of her face. She hadn't been sleeping.

        Akemi opened the door. "Hello, McNeal-sensei. Jodie-san."

        "Akemi, I haven't seen you since you made the stills." The professor gestured to the monitor. "Are you alright?"

        She sighed. Akemi tried not to sound annoyed as she spoke, but it was obvious she felt put out by what was happening to her, although all of her anger seemed to be directed at Samara... and herself. "Your American Sadako has been making her presence known. My sleep has been disturbed."

        "Oh, Akemi, I'm sorry."

        "It's not your fault, Sensei. I knew the legend. I shouldn't have watched the tape." She shrugged, trying to smile. "I could have made the stills without watching it. The computer does all the work."

        "I'm still sorry," the professor said with sympathy.

        "No, it was my own curiosity that got me." Akemi put her books down. "The last two days, Samara-san has been in my dreams. There doesn't seem to be anything that I can do to stop the nightmares. And there is something I was wrong about, Sensei."

        "What's that?" he asked, apprehensive.

        Akemi pushed up her sleeve to show them the burns on her wrist in the shape of small, slender fingers. "Her hands do generate heat."

*****

        When Jodie finally got home, Quinn was in the kitchen cooking something and Svetlana was on the couch, staring at the TV with a blank expression.

        The sounds in the room seemed louder as the two girls now stared at each other. Jodie closing the door behind her. The drone of the TV newscaster. Quinn stirring something in a pot. As soon as she saw that look on Svetlana's face, Jodie remembered the dream, and realized that it had been another shared vision.

         _"We're never going to be friends, are we?"_

        "I don't think so."

        They said nothing to each other. Jodie and Svetlana had already done all their talking in the dream. Things they had been unable to say when they were awake had been said while they were asleep, through these strange visions Samara was inducing. It was enough.

        Svetlana swallowed hard.

         _"She wants your boyfriend. What if you die and he lives? Do you think they'll get back together?"_

        Through the looks they gave each other, they came to an understanding.

        So that was how it was going to be.

*****

        With the cool night air blowing across her face and the stars above her head, Stacy could almost believe that everything was okay. She wanted nothing more than to just lie here on Beckett's blanket, draped across the hood of his car, and stare up at the sky for the rest of her life.

        "Here you go."

        Beckett climbed up on the car, a black cherry wine cooler in each hand. His girlfriend lay with her arm under her head and her legs crossed; she looked over at him and the moonlight hit her eyes and shined off her hair in such a beautiful way that he just had to kiss her. Beckett leaned over; Stacy tilted her head to receive his lips on hers. Then she took the wine cooler with a grin and said, "Thanks, baby."

        Lying back, Beckett opened his wine cooler, taking a swig, and pulled her close. Stacy laid her head on his shoulder. "What color should we wear to the prom?" she asked.

        He grinned and chuckled. "I thought we'd already decided on this."

        "Yeah, but I was thinking... emerald green."

        "Ooh, that'd look great on you."

        "And you with an emerald cummerbund? We'd look scrumptious." Stacy traced aimless lines across his chest and stomach with her finger. "I could even have a corsage with green flowers."

        "Is there such a thing as a green flower? I always thought the stems and leaves were the green part."

        She smacked his chest. "Of course there are green..." Leaning up a little, Stacy looked at him. "Is there such a thing as a green flower?"

        They both giggled and chuckled and it was so nice to focus on light, ridiculous things like the colors of flowers.

        "How much later can we stay out?" Beckett asked. "Did your mom give you a curfew?"

        "Ten o'clock on a school night."

        "Ah..." He looked at his watch. "Then we've got two hours. I think this should be our last wine cooler, then."

        "Yeah, I can't have my mom smelling alcohol on my breath again." As if to make it a joke, Stacy took a sip. "She likes you. I don't want to screw it up."

        "Mm."

        They were quiet for a minute, staring up at the stars. Then Stacy snaked her hand down to his thigh.

        Beckett smiled to himself. "Why Miss Ballard, I do declare, you are manhandling my person."

        She kissed his neck and the curve of his ear. Make it go away, make it all just fucking go away, push it all down and forget it was ever there. The land of make-believe doesn't exist, only this is real. "Make love to me," she whispered.

        Within a minute, they were in the back of his car, Stacy on his lap, straddling him, and Beckett working her clothes off between kisses. The car filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and the windows began to steam up. Beckett knew his suspicions were true when he got her shirt unbuttoned and she stopped him before he could remove it completely. Before he could expose her arms.

        "Nuh-mm, this is fine," Stacy muttered, moving her arms so he couldn't slide the shirt off her shoulders. She cupped his face in her hands and tried to go on kissing him, but he slowly pulled away, obviously troubled. "What's the matter?"

        His tone became cross. "I guess you won't be wearing any _sleeveless_ dresses to the prom."

        "What, why?"

        Beckett paused just to look at her. "You're cutting again, aren't you?"

        At first, Stacy made a face like she was insulted and shocked that he could even think such a thing. "What? No. Of course. Of course I'm not..." She paused under the realization that this was the worst opportunity to lie she'd dealt with in the last week. All he had to do was lift her sleeve and he'd see the truth. Lines of Band-Aids and red marks, all up and down her forearms. No point in even trying to hide this one. "Okay, yes, I've been cutting."

        With a frustrated sigh, he said, "Why? _Why?_ What's going on? Is your mom's boyfriend hassling you again?"

        "No, she's not dating him anymore. I just... sometimes things get stressful, you know, and... sometimes I have relapses." While she spoke, Stacy avoided looking in Beckett's eyes.

        But he understood that this was a hard thing for her to admit. Cutting yourself was one of the most shameful ways a girl could choose to deal with stress in this modern society. Everyone thought there was something deeply wrong with you when they found out. But Beckett understood that it had more to do with Stacy's home life than any _choice_ she had made to pick up a razorblade and take it to her arms. He wished there was something he could do to help, but he knew there was only so much.

        It was just the way she coped. Sort of like an addiction. Like smoking. For a while, Stacy could stop, she could quit, but something would happen and she'd pick up that hidden pack of cigarettes.

        Only, it wasn't a pack of cigarettes.

        "What's been happening? I want to be there for you," Beckett said, brushing her hair away from her face.

        Stacy shook her head. "You'd never believe me if I told you." An almost hysterical laugh escaped her. "Trust me."

        "Try me." When she wouldn't look at him, Beckett touched her cheek. Stacy pulled away a bit and shook her head again. "You have this big fight with Jasmine, you're cutting again, and you - " He stopped himself; it might be too much for her to find out that he knew about the graffiti incident right now. What she had done... what she had _written_... Beckett wanted to know _so bad_ what she meant by those things. _Please stop me before they make me kill again._ What the hell did _that_ mean? Was it just some sort of overdramatic playacting thing?

        In the end, he decided not to mention it... yet. "I... I just want to know what's going on with you."

        Stacy, still looking away, wondered if her boyfriend had the slightest clue what he was asking. "Beckett... I just can't talk about it right now, okay? It's too... it's too complicated." _You'd never believe me. It's insane. The only reason Jasmine believes me is because she was there when they came. I don't even know where to start so it sounds even remotely possible._ "Let's talk about it later."

        "When?"

        "Becks, I don't know, I..." Stacy felt like smacking him for making such a big deal out of this. He just had no idea how hard it was to explain. "You've got that psychometry thing. Can't you just touch me and see what happened?"

        "You know I don't do that unless I'm invited. It's intruding," Beckett reminded her.

        "Oh come on, you know you do it without being asked. Anybody would if they could do that."

        "Stace, are you asking me to - "

        "I thought I just did!"

        "Okay, geez." Placing a hand on her shoulder, Beckett braced for a bad vision involving Stacy's family. She rarely got along with her mother's boyfriends. In fact, one of them made passes at Stacy behind her mother's back.

        What he saw did not involve her family. He couldn't tell whom it involved at all.

        Stacy, looking about to cry, stepped out of her car and hesitated there with the door open. She held onto the door tightly. There was a screwdriver in her hand. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she screamed, "Why are you making me do this?!"

        Faulken sometimes used text over the visions, like words projected onto a wall with an overhead projector. The text over Stacy labeled her, _DOG ON A LEASH._

        Beckett removed his hand from her shoulder. That told him nothing, nothing he could make sense of until he learned more.

        Jasmine. He had to talk to Jasmine. She knew something.

        "What did you see?" Stacy asked.

        He couldn't stand the desperation in her eyes. Beckett stroked her cheek. "Nothing, baby. It was too hazy."

        Stacy laid her head on his shoulder. "Make it all go away. Just for a little while."

        In the only way he knew how, Beckett tried to fulfill her request by resuming what they had started. He kissed her with all the passion he could muster, hoping he could make her feel beautiful and relaxed and normal for just one night.

        It was the last good moment they shared before everything went to hell.

  
it won't stop


	23. Day 23: Bookmark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While researching Alexandra Baptiste and her supernatural paintings, Sam learns about their connection to Adolf Hitler, and remembers an incident from his childhood where Dean had a bloody encounter with one of the daughters of Heptamera.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 23: Bookmark  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 23 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in December 2007-January 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 3,472  
 **Summary:** While researching Alexandra Baptiste and her supernatural paintings, Sam learns about their connection to Adolf Hitler, and remembers an incident from his childhood where Dean had a bloody encounter with one of the daughters of Heptamera.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter contains light sexual content. No pairing; teenage Dean teases Sam about getting a stiffy.  
This chapter also contains fictional content based on the history of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis - nothing more graphic or unpleasant than what you saw in the movie.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #23 Unholy and Coclaim100 Prompt #23 Hatred.  
 **Author's Notes:** **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        So focused on what he was reading, Sam was barely aware that Gerald had even been in the room; the smell of fast food stirred him out of his concentration long enough to see the door closing and notice the bag next to his arm on the desk. He had heard Gerald say something about joining a study group and, "Hey, got you something," before he dashed back out the door.

        Sam dug into the bag. A Whopper and fries. Good ol' Gerry. If it hadn't been for him, Sam might have completely forgotten to eat dinner, at least until his stomach went on strike around midnight.

        He ate his hamburger while continuing to read the books about Alexandra Baptiste. As Sam went along, he bookmarked certain pages with Post-It Notes, passages he intended to photocopy for the file he would build for Dean. The book about occult symbolism had the most yellow tabs sticking out of the top in uneven lines like a haphazardly organized filing cabinet.

        The author, Rowan Bloodworth, described why Hitler had been interested in Baptiste's paintings.

         _The dictator believed that many of the paintings had the supernatural ability to come alive and kill anyone he targeted. Seven particular paintings had to be viewed in a special sequence, like the playing of a movie one frame at a time. This would put a "curse" on the unfortunate art connoisseur that would eventually result in their death seven days later through the use of one of the "Messenger" paintings, which were the pieces of art that were purported to be able to come to life. A survivor of World War II who was just a child at the time described how Hitler had her brought to him one night to bear witness to one of these deaths. The daughter of a Nazi SS guard, she claimed that one of the double-sided paintings, the one that is **Sasha** on the Light side and **Everyone Will Suffer** on the Dark side, was brought into the room and put before a man that Hitler seemed to have a quarrel with. Within minutes, the Dark Sasha moved, crawling out of the painting. She dripped paint on the floor that dissolved away as if she truly was the painting come to life. The man screamed and ran around the room while Sasha pursued him; soon he clawed at his head and fell down dead, his mouth frozen open in his last scream. Hitler reportedly laughed the entire time._

         _The girl says that Hitler forced her to watch three more of these deaths over time, performed by the **Sasha** work and two other "Messenger" paintings. When she asked him why he kept showing her these horrible deaths, he claimed it was because she was a descendent of the Baptiste family. He mistakenly thought that Alexandra Baptiste was one of the "Ancients," a race of superior beings that held the secrets of Thule. Thule was a legendary island like Atlantis, lost in a catastrophe, supposedly populated by a god-like race, much like the master Aryan race that Hitler aspired to create. He told the girl that he'd performed mystical rituals to make contact with the Ancients, hoping to be endowed with supernatural powers. The spirit of Baptiste had answered him. According to him, the artist was the one who told him that this child was her current youngest descendent, possessing her own paranormal abilities. After encouraging her to practice using the powers she'd inherited for the betterment of his ideal society, Hitler also suggested that film might be a more efficient way to accomplish the seven-day curse, and told her to experiment with it to see what results she could get by making her own "cursed films."_  
        Sam ran his hands through his mop of brown hair, scratching at his head. This one ran so deep... just how would Dad and Dean be involved in it? Sam didn't want to give them too much information and cloud the issue, but not enough information and they could be walking into something they couldn't handle. He stuck a Post-It in the corner of this page, absently running his fingers over it until it flattened down while he took the time to better organize the thoughts jumbled in his head. As outlandish as it might seem, Sam thought the tale of Hitler using supernatural paintings to murder his enemies could be true. If he hadn't dreamed of Alexandra Baptiste the night before, he might be a lot more skeptical now, but it was the dream that put him on this track in the first place. Each piece of this puzzle led straight to the next.

        One word kept jumping out at Sam as he scanned the paragraphs two and three times over: Mistakenly. _He **mistakenly** thought that Alexandra Baptiste was one of the "Ancients," a race of superior beings that held the secrets of Thule._ How did Bloodworth know it wasn't true? Was the man just not a believer in the supernatural, and thought this was yet another insane idea to come out of the mouth of a raving lunatic responsible for the hate-fueled genocide of millions of people? Or did Bloodworth know something about who Baptiste really was in the scheme of the paranormal world? Sam also wanted to know if Baptiste had actually visited Adolf Hitler, like she'd visited him. The woman said she was spreading a message concerning the horrible things that had been done to her daughter. Could it have been that Baptiste saw Hitler as a powerful man with the ability to help her spread that message if she could only convince him that she had power to give too? Had she played Hitler for a fool?

        Either way, it must've been one of the unholiest alliances ever forged.

        The possibilities got Sam's heart racing. He wished he had someone to talk to about this, someone who could help him sort it out. His brother wasn't stupid, but a lot of this might go over Dean's head. Besides, they weren't really talking, especially not about cases.

        Because Alexandra Baptiste was on his mind, Sam opened his desk drawer and took out a Ziploc bag. The hair that had been wrapped around his wrists when he awoke from the nightmare, _her_ hair, he had saved in the bag; he wasn't sure who he was ever going to show it to, but... just in case.

         _Books marked up with Post-Its, a baggie with a spectre's hair in it, a bunch of half-formed theories... no, you're not hunting, Sammy._

        That sarcastic conscience-voice again. Sam realized, with little surprise, that it sounded like Dean.

        He closed the book and absently examined the cover while finishing his french fries. Sam read the name of the author again. Rowan Bloodworth. Bloodworth. Where had he heard that name before?

        Devouring the fries three or four at a time, Sam opened both books again, placing them side by side, and began flipping through the one about Baptiste's art. Something... something had stuck in his head; it was on the tip of his tongue. Halfway through the book, he stumbled upon that sliver of memory that had been pecking at the edge of his mind.

        Baptiste had painted a dark-haired girl who appeared to be in her teens with her fingertips to her temples, eyes closed, face pained with concentration. Deep purple light surrounded her head. The painting, reproduced on page 74, was entitled _Cheyenne_.

        Cheyenne Bloodworth.

        Sam barely remembered her. He wasn't even sure he would have been able to describe what she looked like until he saw her again in this painting. What he remembered about the incident was the effect she'd had on Dean.

        John had taken his sons to a demonstration organized by Cheyenne's father when Dean was sixteen and Sam was barely twelve. Agents from Child Protective Services had been sniffing around John's door to the point that he didn't feel safe leaving the boys to their own devices for the day; Dean would just skip school again and risk getting picked up for truancy. Then it would all be over, and they'd have to run. They might have to run anyway. But either way, it was best that John keep the car packed and his kids close to him for a while.

        A cultured associate of John's, an eccentric man with money who was interested in the supernatural, wanted John to accompany him to this demonstration. It wasn't John Winchester's usual concern, but Mr. Eisley promised to fund an important hunt if he could get John's opinion on what they were about to see that day.

        Sam remembered sitting slumped down in the padded folding chair, pouting over the fact that he was missing a very interesting lab experiment by not being in science class today. He wondered to himself why men like Mr. Eisley were considered eccentric while men like his father were called crazy, and surmised that it must have something to do with how much violence was involved. A demonstration of psychic photography wouldn't involve any guns or blood or monsters to behead, not real ones anyway. Maybe just ones projected onto photographic plates.

        No, this definitely wasn't John Winchester's usual affair. Bill Bloodworth touted that his daughter could project images of thought onto photographic plates, a psychic ability known by several different names: Psychic photography, thoughtography, nensha (the Japanese term), psychic projection... according to Dean, it was known as "Boreography."

        "You know, because it's so damn _boring_ ," he'd said.

        Mr. Bloodworth had managed to turn it into a moneymaking enterprise by giving lectures during Cheyenne's demonstrations and writing books about her abilities. Something about the man put John off, but many parents would have felt the same way about a father making money off his child by parading her before the scrutiny of the world.

        That scrutiny could be pretty damn cruel. Especially with the claim Bill Bloodworth made about Cheyenne's projections.

        He said that sometimes, they became real.

        There had been many demonstrations during which whatever the girl had imagined onto the photographic plate had been pulled from that plate and held, a photograph metamorphosised into a tangible object. Bill Bloodworth always passed the object around for everyone to touch so they could see it was real. Critical skeptics called the demonstrations cheap magic shows where the Bloodworths employed slight of hand; Sam remembered reading an article Mr. Eisley had given his father where a notable skeptic called Bill and Cheyenne Bloodworth "the Sigfried and Roy of charlatan psychics." He also remembered the writer of that article noting that when confronted with the comment, Cheyenne cried.

        Now, as Sam looked at the hair in the plastic bag that he'd pulled from a nightmare, he wasn't so sure that he agreed with those skeptics. Maybe a girl could possess such abilities as to turn a photograph real.

        Still sulking, Sam didn't pay much attention when Cheyenne and her father came out on the stage and the man began to explain psychic photography and how it worked. He jumped in his seat when Dean smacked his knee with the back of his hand.

        "Hey squirt, look at this chick. She's got some amazing tits."

        Sam immediately giggled with his hand to his mouth, blushing a bit. He was, after all, only twelve at the time, on the cusp of sexual awareness. Dean just loved to embarrass him by saying things like that, making it a goal to catch Sam off guard.

        "No, really." Dean was slumped in his seat too, with his legs sprawled apart, completely comfortable. Most of the other people at the demonstration were dressed like they thought this was a job interview, but Dean? He had on ripped, worn jeans and a denim jacket with a few rock band patches sewn onto it. The picture of teenage rebellion. "Look at those bazooms. The perfect shape to cup in your hands and put your face right in between them." Dean held his hands in front of his own chest like he was cupping Cheyenne's breasts.

        Sam laughed so hard that he couldn't stifle it, and snorted. Someone shushed him crossly.

        John turned a stern eye on them. "Boys!" he whispered in a harsh tone.

        With a pause to reflect on how Dean had almost gotten him in trouble _again_ , Sam swatted Dean's leg. Dean promptly swatted him back. Sam flicked his brother's arm, and got a kick in the ankle in return. Before Sam could stomp on Dean's foot, John glared at them a second time, which ended the shenanigans.

        Sam also remembered from the article that Cheyenne was only a year younger than Dean. Shit, but she _did_ have some nice breasts, pushing ever so roundly at her fluffy sweater, with her hair laying across the tops of them in a flattering - _Damn it, Dean!_ Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, willing his penis _not_ to do what it did naturally all the time at this age. Thinking about the most unsexy things he could usually did the trick. _Dead kittens, naked 70-year-old nuns, Grandma Winchester in a thong..._

        Dean just sat there with a smug look on his face.

        Remembering it now, Sam smiled and shook his head, feeling embarrassed and amused at the same time. Big brothers could be such jerks sometimes.

        Making a few flourishes with his arms as if he really was a magician, Bill Bloodworth picked up a metal photographic plate and held it out. "Cheyenne will now demonstrate psychic photography by picking an interesting face out of the audience at random and projecting it onto this film."

        Cheyenne scanned the crowd. The audience grew quiet; the demonstration had become a little more interesting. They were all curious if the girl would be able to do it. She eventually looked right at Sam and seemed to settle on him.

        "Hey, your girlfriend's looking at you," Dean teased.

        Sam muttered, "Shut up." Truthfully, Sam felt a little special that the girl had chosen him. Girls hardly ever looked at him, with his bad acne.

        Cheyenne put her fingers to her temples, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Nothing happened. Thirty seconds went by. The crowd began to shift in their seats. Half a minute was a long time for people to sit still and wait in this kind of situation; everyone expected quicker results.

        Putting his fingertips to his own temple, Dean made a small groan and rubbed his head a little.

        Mr. Bloodworth glanced at his daughter, obviously growing uncomfortable. "Cheyenne?"

        She scrunched up her face as if she was in pain, concentrating as hard as she could. A white blob appeared on the film. Several people in the audience gasped. Dean closed his eyes and made another sound of discomfort.

        John looked at him. "Dean, what's the matter?"

        Dean slumped down further in his seat. "Getting a headache."

        More white objects appeared on the photographic plate. It was starting to look like a person's face with all of the colors reversed, like a negative. A murmur passed through the crowd, some sounding impressed, others scoffing.

        Sam smelled something burning, similar to the odor of a burned out lightbulb. Something was off about the picture she was creating of him. It was hard to tell what it was since his face was in negative. He started to lean across Dean to ask his father what was up with the picture when he noticed how much pain his brother was in; it was obvious from how far down Dean was buried in his chair with his fingers to his temples, rubbing deep circles into them and wincing.

        "Dean? You okay?" Sam asked.

        He watched as a single drop of blood slowly ran from Dean's nose to his upper lip. Sam leaned over him to tell their father that Dean had a nosebleed.

        Before he could speak, Sam was sprayed with blood.

        Dean had whimpered just before a sudden torrent of blood burst from his nose. It ran over his lips and stained the front of his shirt and jeans. He blew out in an attempt to breathe through his nostrils and only sprayed his brother with flecks of crimson. Sam flinched away in surprise. Dean's hand went to his nose just before a woman sitting nearby let out a scream at the sight of the blood.

        Cheyenne's eyes flew open and she looked to see what the commotion was about, gasping and covering her mouth when she saw the blood all over the front of Dean's shirt. Mr. Bloodworth put down the plate, rushing to his daughter and pushing her backstage.

        A few more women shrieked and two men cried, "Jesus!" as blood ran in thick streams over Dean's fingers. Mr. Eisley handed Dean a handkerchief. Dean put it to his nose, sputtering and coughing.

        "Put your head back," John commanded, and pushed back on Dean's forehead. He made sure Dean held the handkerchief tight to his nose, blocking off his nostrils, and added, "Son, breathe through your mouth," when he realized Dean was still sputtering as if he couldn't get air.

        The flow of blood stopped fairly quickly then, and John estimated that Dean couldn't have lost more than a few ounces, but it was enough to be horrifying, especially coming on with such suddenness. The front of the boy's shirt wasn't exactly drenched, but it was stained with enough blood to be sickening; John doubted they could save it from the trash pile.

        "Does Dean get these nosebleeds often?" Mr. Eisley questioned.

        Putting two and two together, John said, "No. Either my son has suddenly taken ill, or this girl you wanted me to see has some real psychic ability. You don't think it was an awfully strange coincidence that just as she tried her hardest to make that image appear on the photographic plate, Dean had this reaction?"

        Mr. Eisley didn't have to consider that for long. "Cheyenne _was_ trying to project an image across a stage... perhaps some people in the vicinity of those psychic waves have a bad reaction to them?"

        Dean suddenly lifted his head. "I heard a high-pitched tone," he said, trying to be helpful. "While she was sending the picture across the room, I heard a tone. It started off not so bad and got piercing by the end."

        "Keep your head back," John repeated, pushing Dean's head back on the seat again.

        Sam, with concern, put his hand on Dean's leg so he'd know he was there. "Dean, are you okay?"

        Because he wasn't currently allowed to lift his head, Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye and gave Sam a thumbs-up. "I'm fine, Sammy. Just gimme a minute and I'll be rockin'."

        It was at this point that a security guard walked up with a few others in tow to restore order to the shocked audience. John's back stiffened up defensively. "Does your son need a doctor?" he asked.

        Remembering it all now, Sam understood what happened that day better than he had when he was a kid. Cheyenne Bloodworth was a daughter of Heptamera. She had to be. Alive or dead, they had the power to hurt people, even kill them, through this projective ability - a twisted version of thoughtography.

        He also understood the picture that Cheyenne had been trying to make on the photographic plate. Her family owned almost all of Alexandra Baptiste's paintings. Sam didn't know how she and Rowan were related, but it made sense that they came from the same family, and had both seen the family art collection.

        The image that Cheyenne had been projecting was an adult Sam in profile. Just as he looked in the painting _For Quinn_.

        It creeped Sam out that the girl had made that connection. And what had she thought of the fact that the man in the painting was attending her demonstration, but as a boy? Did she think it was just a passing resemblance?

        Furthermore, did Dean's nose bleed because he was just one of those people who had bad reactions to projected psychic energy, or because Cheyenne Bloodworth had _attacked_ him?

        Sam pressed a yellow sticky note to page 74.

  
it won't stop


	24. Day 24: Vicious Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While researching Alexandra Baptiste and her supernatural paintings, Sam learns about their connection to Adolf Hitler and the SS forces. Alexandra tries to turn Sam to her way of thinking, but she may lose him when she badmouths John.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 24: Vicious Cycle  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 24 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in January 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 2,452  
 **Summary:** While researching Alexandra Baptiste and her supernatural paintings, Sam learns about their connection to Adolf Hitler and the SS forces. Alexandra tries to turn Sam to her way of thinking, but she may lose him when she badmouths John.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
This chapter also contains fictional content based on the history of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #24 Power and Coclaim100 Prompt #24 Lies.  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Nicky for translating my English into German.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Sam came upon another passage that seemed important enough to mark. Baptiste had kept a journal about Heptamera and the things he had supposedly told her through the psychic link. Rowan Bloodworth had translated several entries in the book about occult imagery. One entry explained how daemons and other divine beings naturally attract some people to them, and because the daughters of Heptamera were half-divine, this would also be true of them. But they seemed to be cursed to attract people who would cause them suffering. Perhaps the revenge thing that Alexandra Baptiste talked about in the nightmare was because of this.

        Not buying the innocent victims routine, Sam wondered if the girls sometimes brought that suffering on themselves. It might just be a vicious cycle. Evil deeds, retaliation, revenge, and more evil deeds. Which came first? He couldn't help but question it after the way they'd threatened him.

        Sam, laying his head on his folded arms, intended to close his eyes for just a few minutes. He fell asleep instead.

        Not the least bit surprised to be caught in another dream, Sam _was_ taken aback by the fact that he was wearing his pajamas in it, with bare feet and everything. The floor was cold, made of concrete. Walls devoid of paint or decoration. Sam wasn't sure at the time why this word came to mind, but the room had a bunker feel.

        He moved along the wall, trying to be quiet. People were making noise in the next room. He snaked around the corner and right into a strange scene. A man, fairly handsome, with slicked-back blond hair, wearing black boots, a white shirt, and a smock, stood before an artist's canvas. He was painting rather frantically; time was of the essence. Sam felt as if he'd stepped into the past, what with the man's old-fashioned haircut. There was a large object to the right of his painting. Sam leaned over to see what it was.

        It was another painting. A finished one. A little girl, black hair. A soldier in a very old-timey uniform, cupping her chin. The child looked frightened, the soldier appeared smug.

        The blond man was recreating it. He was desperately trying to paint that work of art again, on his blank canvas. To copy it. Sam hoped that accuracy didn't count, because the man had no natural artistic talent. Proportions were off. Colors, too. But perhaps, as long as you did your best...

        A little girl came out of the shadows, from some other room. The hanging light above her head began to swing ever so slightly. The motion made the shadows dance like monsters that could change their shape. She hadn't been here long; her dress was still clean and pretty, lacy, and white, in stark contrast to her father's soot and paint-stained face. The shadows stretched and cowered across her. "Papa, was machst du da?"

        The translating voice spoke in Sam's ear. _"Father, what are you doing?"_

        The man only glanced at his girl, concentrating on the painting. "Ich versuche mein eigenes Leben zu retten, Kind."

         _"Trying to save my own life, child."_

        They were speaking German. Sam then looked down to see the jacket of a Nazi SS guard draped across a chair.

        "Holy shit," muttered Sam. Examining the black jacket, he noticed a patch near the collar with a serpent insignia; Sam knew that was the symbol of a member of the medical corps. He'd have to do some research to really pin down what this guy did for the SS forces, but Sam suspected that he worked in the concentration camps. "What the hell is this all about?"

        "It's her. It's the child Rowan Bloodworth wrote about in the book. Hitler's pet."

        Looking to his left, Sam realized there was actually someone there, whispering in his ear. He jumped away with a start and a hiss.

        Alexandra Baptiste. _Her_ again. Only she wasn't all there this time. A ghost made of mist, floating in midair, her legs lost in a cloud of smoke. Parts of her hair covered her face, and she made no move to brush it away. She just spoke to Sam from under the curtain of shiny black strands. "An intricate story, don't you think, Sam?"

        He sneered at her. "Don't talk to me like we're friends." Sam indicated the scene with the father and daughter. "Why are you showing me this?"

        Alexandra shrugged lightly. "You're researching us, aren't you? All of Heptamera's girls want to be known; they want their messages spread." She lifted her head enough for some hair to fall away and Sam to see her lips curl up in a smirky smile.

        Gesturing toward the father and daughter again, Sam said, "What's going on here?"

        Alexandra turned her head slightly in their direction, then looked back at Sam. "Hitler wanted to know how our curse worked. Out of loyalty, the soldier volunteered to test it. Isn't it funny what people will do in the name of ambition?"

        "Why is he reproducing that painting?"

        Alexandra smirked again. "You're a smart boy, Sam. Figure it out for yourself."

        "Were you playing the Nazis to further your own agenda?"

        Snickering, she replied, "Of course."

        "How could you ally yourself with such monsters?" he asked, spewing venom in his tone.

        "Well, we all lie to protect what we love. Don't we?" Alexandra returned Sam's tone with a smug one of her own. "I left out aspects of the truth for the sake of my daughter... all the daughters of Heptamera... and you... you spent your childhood lying to protect your negligent father. Hm? Didn't you?"

        Sam, completely caught off guard, visibly winced. How dare this bitch... "I can't believe you're even comparing the two."

        "Oh, of course, on the surface, the situations are nothing alike. We're just a bunch of homicidal bitches and your father is a hero." Alexandra then looked up until the hair fell away from her face. Regarding Sam with those ice blue eyes. "Deep down, though, there is a little bit of monster in your dad. Isn't there?"

        Sam fumed at her words. That a woman like her could talk about his dad like this... "You don't know shit about me, lady."

        She laughed like she was regarding a child. "You're smarter than this, Sam. You know about my rapport with Heptamera. Do you think you understand the limit of his power? Do you think he didn't work through me at other times when I wasn't painting? We can see inside you, Sam Winchester. Read your mind. You chastise me for saying these things about your father, but you've thought them yourself."

        The rest of the room faded away until the Nazi and his child were gone, and there was nothing there but hazy grey. Sam swallowed hard. He didn't want to think about this, he didn't want to hear this out of someone else's mouth.

        "Your father left you and your brother alone to fend for yourselves for days on end, when you were far, far too young for it. Anything could have happened. And it often did, didn't it? He was so neglectful. So emotionally abusive. You've thought about the pressure he put on Dean so many times."

        "The pressure he still puts on Dean," Sam mumbled.

        "Yes. Think of all those times your father urged you to lie to CPS, your teachers, any adult who asked too many questions. Just so he could run off again. If the police ever caught up to your brother, he'd go to jail for a long time. And who taught him all those scams? Your father. What kind of lesson is that for a child?" Alexandra shook her head.

        Tilting his head quizzically, he wondered what the woman was up to. She was the last person who should be criticizing anyone for teaching a child bad lessons. "It's not like he does it for evil purposes. My father has his own methods, many that others don't agree with, but he does it to save people."

        "And why should his children suffer for that, I ask you? How could he push aside his own kids in favor of saving the children of others?" she questioned accusingly.

        "I don't know how to answer that. But he's not a monster, not like your precious Heptamera, and certainly not like the Nazis," protested Sam.

        "And yet, you ran away from him."

        Sam wanted to immediately reply that no, he did not run away, his father kicked him out. But that would be a lie, at least partially. Sam would have left even if his dad hadn't said that if he walked out that door now, he shouldn't come back. God, that was such a cliche, words so overused that people didn't even mean them half the time, but when said to you, they hurt, and you believed them. "Yes. I left home, with a big kick out the door. But that doesn't make my father as bad as the fucking Nazis."

        A small smile crossing her lips, Alexandra said, "Isn't that always how it is? You can be mad at your family and say whatever you want about them, but let someone else insult them and suddenly, you feel the need to defend them. No, your father is not as bad as the Nazis. My point is, you left home to become your own man. It was the right thing to do. So why are you acting like your father? He's not a great hero that you should emulate. You don't hunt anymore, remember?"

        "I'm not researching you for my father's sake."

        Her smile turned gentle and motherly. "You're doing it for Dean."

        Sam did not answer her, just swallowed hard.

        Alexandra knew this was all about Dean. "That's alright. We understand it. In fact, we don't mind if you know a little about us. After all, that is our major goal. His daughters have suffered, they must be heard. But perhaps it's better for us and for you that we keep this between ourselves. Dean and Dad would just be wasting their time anyway." Smiling in that motherly way again, she finished by saying, "Can't we be friends, Sam?"

        Sam smiled back, but his grin was obviously put on. "You know, my dad isn't always right. Sometimes, he's a downright asshole. But he always told me never to ally myself with monsters, because like thieves, there is no honor among them. I think in this case, I'd be stupid not to listen to him."

        As much as she wanted to present a face unaffected by emotion, Alexandra could not help the angry cast that fell over her eyes. Her smile became fake, with tight, thin lips. She floated over closer to Sam. He stood his ground. "Alright, then. If that's the way you want it."

        "So be it," Sam replied.

        With a smug look, Alexandra snapped her fingers sharply before Sam's eyes. It made him blink in surprise, and when he looked again, he was in another room. The walls and floor had a marble look to them, with lights in rows down by the floor. The lamps illuminated at least twenty paintings hung along each wall; Sam avoided looking at them because he had a suspicion he knew what they were. Cursed paintings. A very large item near the wall ahead of him stole all of his attention anyway.

        It was a flat screen TV on a pedestal, the biggest one he'd ever seen. The screen had to be at least five feet tall by eight feet wide. The image on the TV was of a pile of rocks in a clearing surrounded by trees. Upon closer look, Sam realized the pile of rocks was probably a...

         _Ding Dong Dell._

        A well.

        The sunlight in the grainy image faded in and out at times, indicating that this was a film and not a still picture. What Sam found the most confusing is the fact that in each corner, there were rows of numbers spaced at regular intervals. They were counting down.

        Counting down to what?

        After looking at the strings of numbers for several seconds, Sam figured that they must represent days, hours, minutes, and seconds. There were at least nineteen strings of these numbers. In three cases, there were only 3 days, 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 41 seconds left... 40 seconds left... 39 seconds left... fourteen others had 3 days and 6 hours. One lone string had a little more than four days left, and another, about four and a half.

        Then there were the cycles that had stopped. Four of them, where the countdown had ceased.

        As he was trying to put two and two together, Sam's thoughts were interrupted by Alexandra Baptiste's voice. "Do you understand now, Sam?"

        He whirled on his heels, expecting to see her creeping up behind him. But she was just a disembodied voice.

        "There's nothing you can do to stop it. Only they can make the numbers stop turning."

        Looking around for where the voice may be coming from, Sam said, "These are countdowns for people who have been cursed by your paintings. Aren't they? They die in seven days, just like Hitler's enemies."

        "You're a very smart boy, Sam. But you've got more to figure out. You think about it." It was almost like he could feel her hands on his chest, pushing him from the room. From the dream. "Goodbye."

        "Wait! Just answer me this." Sam pushed back against the force inching him toward the door; the friction and resistance of his bare feet as they slid on the cold, hard floor made squeaking sounds that echoed off the walls. "The Nazi. Please tell me he died more horribly than all the others."

        Alexandra laughed derisively. "He died when the Israeli Secret Service found him."

        Not expecting that, Sam stopped resisting for a second and was involuntarily pushed quite far across the floor. "What do you mean?" Regaining momentum, he temporarily stopped the backward motion of his body. "The curse didn't kill him?"

        Laughing again, Alexandra simply replied, "No," and shoved Sam from the room.

        Sam awoke with a loud, sharp intake of breath. His head came up off his arms and he looked around, relieved to be back in his own room.

        But, also, confused.

        He wondered about that room with the paintings and the television. Was it just a symbolic concoction of Alexandra's dream world, or a real room somewhere? All those cursed works of art... had he just been looking at the Bloodworth's collection?

        What consumed Sam's mind more, though, was the Nazi, and how he had survived the war. Sasha's curse hadn't killed him.

        The question wasn't _Why?_

        It was _Why not?_

  
it won't stop


	25. Day 25: Dark Divinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the home of author Rowan Bloodworth and his sister, Cheyenne, who have a very special connection to the curse of Heptamera.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 25: Dark Divinity  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 25 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in April 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 2,685  
 **Summary:** A look into the home of author Rowan Bloodworth and his sister, Cheyenne, who have a very special connection to the curse of Heptamera.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
This chapter also contains fictional content based on the history of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #25 Destiny and Coclaim100 Prompt #25 Truth.  
 **Author's Notes:** Just wanted to note that my character has the warm fuzzy feelings for the Nazi, not me. Cross-over with _Supernatural_.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Approaching ten o'clock on the West coast, Rowan Bloodworth was already in his white satin pajamas, walking the grand hallway between his side of the house and his sister's in his bare feet. He passed one of the cleaning ladies on the way. "You're here pretty late, Rosalita."

        "I am just leaving, Mr. Bloodworth." The fifty-year-old woman gathered up her purse and coat.

        "Well, goodnight." Rowan absently thumbed through last Sunday's paper, which sat spread out on an endtable, underneath the big family picture on the wall.

        "Are you sure you don't need anything before I go?"

        "No, I'm fine."

        "Goodnight, Mr. Bloodworth." On her way out, Rosalita straightened a bowl of flowers sitting too close to the edge of a table.

        Rowan's personal assistant locked the door behind the maid and then turned in himself, exchanging more pleasantries with his boss on his way by. After scanning the newspaper a little longer, Rowan headed into his sister's wing of the sprawling mansion in northern California.

        Cheyenne sat in the large parlor closest to the main hallway. She looked up from her reading when Rowan entered. "Hey." Adjusting her reading glasses, Cheyenne returned her attention to the dog-eared pages of the paperback in her lap.

        "Hi. Have you seen my book?" he asked.

        Too distracted to look up, she muttered, "What book?"

        "What book do you think?" Rowan said in annoyance. "Do you think I'm talking about one of your romance novels with Fabio on the cover?"

        It was during these minor bicker fights that they most sounded like brother and sister. A great deal of the time, the distance between their respective living spaces in the house mirrored the emotional distance between them.

        "Oh, that book." Cheyenne gestured to a digest-sized book with a worn, black leather cover, sitting on the endtable beside her. "It's there."

        Her drink was sitting on top of it.

        Eyes wide, Rowan grabbed the drink and nearly slammed it down on the table. Small droplets of tea spilled over the side and plopped on the table and nearby arm of the couch. "You used it as a coaster? You used _The Heptameradaemon Grimoire_ as a _coaster?!_ Chey, are you _quite_ mad?" He picked up the book and began to wipe off the water ring on the cover. "This thing is over two hundred years old."

        "Then you shouldn't have left it in here."

        "I _didn't_ ," Rowan protested. "Did you take it out of my room?"

        Cheyenne took a small chocolate out of a canister on the endtable and bit into it. "Why would I take your dusty old book?" She popped the other half of the chocolate into her mouth and licked her first two fingers while Rowan stood there, openly irritated, waiting for her explanation. "Rosalita probably moved it. You know how she feels about that stuff. 'It's a conjuring book. It's evil!'" Cheyenne waved her free hand in the air, imitating Rosalita's overwrought gesturing and accent.

        Although Rowan smiled lightly, he wasn't buying it. "Are you sure you weren't reading it?"

        "What use would I have for that book?" she asked, immersed in her paperback.

        He didn't answer at first, just reading her body language. Then Rowan cleared his throat and replied, "None, just thought maybe you were curious."

        "I can't even read Greek," Cheyenne added.

        Chuckling, Rowan said, "I didn't think of that." He looked at the old, crumbling book. "Remind me to have a talk with Rosalita tomorrow. This is a very valuable book. Alexandra Baptiste's hypomnemata about her rapport with her muse shouldn't be taken from its case and flung about the house."

        "Of course not." Cheyenne dug into the canister of chocolates again.

        "And _you_..." He pointed the book at her. "...you watch what you put your drinks on. We can afford real coasters, you know."

        "Oh gee, I forgot," she said sarcastically, and made a face at him.

        Shaking his head and chuckling, Rowan bent over to kiss his sister on the head. "Goodnight, Chey."

        "'Night, Rowan." Cheyenne smiled back pleasantly until he'd left the room. Then she stared off into space, no long so interested in her paperback, lost in thought. The look on her face was troubled and pained.

        It took Rowan a good minute and a half to walk back to his bedroom, on his side of the house. Along the way, he stopped to check the lock on every door he passed, but the distance was still considerable for a house mainly occupied by two people. Stopping only to lock his door behind him, Rowan headed for two identical bookcases against one wall, reached in to one of the shelves, and pulled at a book with a blue spine. There was a click. The bookcases began to slide apart on casters hidden in the floor. Between them, a steel vault door was revealed.

        Rowan punched a code into the keypad, then placed his hand on the scanner next to it. After his fingerprints had been scanned, a computerized voice said, "Welcome, Rowan," and the vault door slowly opened.

        Inside was the room Sam Winchester had dreamed about.

        Rowan closed the door after he had entered and picked up a Ziploc bag full of herbs from a nearby table, then walked over to a pedestal with a copper bowl on top of it. The large television in front of the wall ahead of him still broadcast the image of Samara's well with the countdowns descending in every corner. Sam had not allowed himself to look at these walls, but if he had, he would have noticed that there were more than paintings hanging on them. If he'd seen everything on those walls, he would have learned a lot.

        On the right wall hung a glass case purchased by Rowan and Cheyenne's mother many years before she died. The case held a black military jacket, the type worn by members of the Nazi SS forces, with the same medical corps insignia patches near the neck that Sam had noticed when he saw this jacket in his dream. A black military hat with the death's head insignia hung above it.

        The etched plaque under the jacket read:

DR. RUDOLF J. METTERNICH  
SERVED AT AUSCHWITZ I & II, 1941-1945  
BELOVED GRANDFATHER

  
        After consulting the book, Rowan carefully measured out several herbs, placed them in the bowl, and added some sea salt before setting the concoction on fire. A sea green flame danced inches above the bowl's rim. To finalize it, he went into a mini-fridge near the vault door and took out a plastic bag full of fresh fish guts; he tossed them into the flames. The fire climbed a bit higher. The fish began to sizzle loudly and smelled as if it was cooking.

        Placing his hands together before him as if in prayer, he said, "Great Heptameradaemon, Guardian of the Mediterranean Sea, grisly destroyer of your enemies, accept my offering, and appear before me now."

        The flame grew into a column of sea green energy that surrounded the bowl and the stand on which it stood. This misty column gave off the smell of stagnant water. It drifted a few feet from the bowl and transformed itself into the half-formed ghost of Alexandra Baptiste. She looked at Rowan with one eye, the other hidden by her hair. "I will speak for Heptamera at this time. Good evening, Rowan."

        He bowed his head to her out of respect. "Good evening, Alexandra. I don't mean to disturb you..."

        "It's alright, you aren't disturbing me." She looked upon him as a mother would look upon her beloved son.

        "I just wanted to know how things are going with reviving Samara's curse. As I understand it, she's been trapped in her well by Rachel Keller for a year, and Charlotte was recently able to let her out. A few days ago, this image appeared on my special TV." He gestured to the big screen television. "This is good news, isn't it?"

        Alexandra nodded. "Yes. Samara's curse has been revived. It will only be a matter of time before she's able to collect these souls, and become strong again."

        "That's good, very good." Glancing down, it was then that he noticed the footprints. Bare feet, bigger than his, had recently left perspiration prints on the marble floor. "Someone besides me has been in here."

        "We need to talk about that," Alexandra said. "I brought Sam Winchester in here. His astral body. I wanted him to understand what he's getting into."

        Rowan tensed up. "What happened?"

        "My girls are trying to get stronger. Revive dormant curses. Others have noticed. John and Dean Winchester will be alerted to these deaths," Alexandra began, pointing with one misty finger to the countdowns on the television, "and will start to hunt us. We are taking steps to discourage this before it begins. One of Samara's quarries is already dreaming about Dean Winchester as if he's some sort of savior. _Her_ savior. I visited Sam Winchester in a dream of my own and unfortunately, it backfired a little. He's now building a file about the girls and me. For Dean."

        "You're afraid that the file might help Dean Winchester somehow?"

        "Well... we're being sure to plant many helpful clues. The older woman took the tape to a party -- we couldn't have planned that one better if we tried. Look at all those souls." She gazed with a pleased smirk at the countdowns on the television. "If even half of them are taken, it would be a good haul. If the Winchesters save the rest, why is that a bad thing? You know _how_ they must be saved. Either way, we win.

        "No, what I'm worried about is that Sam is trying to help his brother. They must not be reunited. They must not hunt together again." Openly troubled, Alexandra looked at the painting, her painting, hanging on the opposite wall. _For Quinn_. Sam and Dean Winchester in profile, wielding guns, ready to go into battle with Heptamera's daughters. "Heptamera showed me this vision over 200 years ago. The people who would join together to end the curse of Heptamera forever. He told me to watch out for this. And right under my nose, they begin to come together. It's as if destiny is conspiring against us.

        "I'm not really afraid of the file. Let Dean Winchester know what we are capable of. If it doesn't scare him away, then we'll just give him more convincing. What I'm afraid of... is destiny."

        Rowan wished that she was flesh instead of ghost, so he could hold her and comfort her. Those ice blue eyes, the long black hair, even the features of her face... Alexandra looked like his dead mother. And why not?

        Ancestors and descendants often looked alike.

        "I understand why you're worried, Alexandra. But all we have to do is make sure the painting doesn't come true. Keep them apart." Rowan reached out and tried to stroke her hair. He thought he could feel it, soft under his fingers. "Sam Winchester doesn't want to hunt again. He wants to be normal."

        "But he _does_ want to hunt. He's just denying it to himself. Sam's been reading your books about my art, and making copies of important passages. It could lead him to you."

        Laughing under his breath, Rowan shrugged and said, "So let him come. Technically, he's already been here. I'm not afraid. I don't believe that Sam would just up and leave college for this. He's happy there, making friends, studying for a promising career as a lawyer... his instincts may tell him to hunt, but that is only because his father raised him to do it." Swallowing hard, Rowan looked pained for a moment, obviously suppressing something unpleasant that came to mind. The memories rippled across his face, making his mouth twitch. "People can resist doing what they're parents teach them to do when it's not good for them."

        Wanting to comfort him, Alexandra reached out with a shadowy tendril and stroked his dark blond hair as he had hers. It felt like a cold wind to him. He leaned into it. "Maybe I am worrying too much," she said. "There _is_ a girl Sam is interested in."

        Rowan seemed to think that was a promising sign. "Oh?"

        "Yes. If this girl becomes important to him, we may have nothing to worry about."

        He smiled gently at Alexandra. "You have my mother's touch."

        She smiled back, continuing to stroke Rowan's hair. "I know you miss her. And I know this is a subject you don't really like to discuss, but our numbers would be strengthened against the threat the Winchesters represent if... well, there is the matter of your sister."

        Rowan tensed up again. He almost moved away from the ghost. "The point is to end their suffering, not add to it."

        "The point is to make sure that everyone else suffers as much as they have. For us to have our revenge on humanity," Alexandra replied in an intense voice. "There is strength in numbers, Rowan."

        "I won't deliberately make Cheyenne suffer."

        " _Everyone_ will suffer!" Alexandra hissed. "Even her. You know it's the truth, because of what she is. Cheyenne is a divine creation, born of mortal woman. It's a truth she will one day face. Maybe Cheyenne will prefer to do it _our_ way."

        Then Rowan did turn from her, shaking his head. "She knows almost nothing about this. I'll keep it from her as long as I can. I'm sorry, but my sister can't join you at this time. It's too soon." He sighed heavily. "It's too soon."

        Alexandra, moving up behind him, stroked the back of Rowan's hair. "We will honor your wishes, for now. But you must face that there will come a time when Cheyenne will know. She may already know more than you think.

        "People like the Winchesters... they will see her as a monster. They may come for her one day."

        Quiet as he thought about that, Rowan's expression reflected the determination and anger that welled up in him at this possibility. He declared, "They'll have to go through me."

*****

        Locking the door behind her, Cheyenne sat on her bed and brought out the pad of paper that she'd hidden from her brother when he came to visit her a little earlier. She looked over what she'd written down, then reached behind some books on the shelves built into her headboard and pulled out a hidden book. The book's title was _Teach Yourself Greek._

        Soon, she had translated several sentences that she'd copied out of _The Heptameradaemon Grimoire_. She'd been doing this for months, swiping the book and writing down a few sentences (Greek wasn't an easy language to copy), and then translating them, alone in her room. Something inside told her that it wasn't just a book about myths. Cheyenne wasn't sure what to make of these new sentences, even after she'd read them five times over.

         _There will be a daughter born in the late 20th century who will be named for a tribe of savages, and also cities, and she will see and project things for all to view, like the ones who came before her. Her bloodline has borne and will bear Heptamera several wives, as he savors the return. But the one who pretends to be her mortal father will hurt her, and allow others to hurt her, and study her, and it will make her suffer. One of the outsiders will stir her heart, and the song will stir her anger, and we may lose her to them. He will encourage her to tear it all down, and she will._

         _She will bring it all down to spite them._

        Shuddering, Cheyenne closed the book, pulled her knees up to her chest, and spoke not a word for the rest of the night. She wondered if everything... the collecting of paintings by an obscure artist, her brother's late nights shut up in his vault with the Grimoire, all the strange things they had encountered in this house in their childhood... had been about her.

  
it won't stop


	26. Day 26: Eyewitness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica and Sam figure out how the curse works. Stacy's friend Jasmine insists on coming over, but Samara and the others aren't happy with her meddling and start making threats.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 26: Eyewitness  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 26 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too much for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in April 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 3,191  
 **Summary:** Jessica and Sam figure out how the curse works. Stacy's friend Jasmine insists on coming over, but Samara and the others aren't happy with her meddling and start making threats.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
This chapter also contains fictional content based on the history of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #26 Ancient and Coclaim100 Prompt #26 Interest.  
 **Author's Notes:** This chapter is a cross-over with the TV show _Supernatural_.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Ten-thirty at night and Sam found himself holding the last Post-It from his first pad. The little yellow piece of paper seemed to stare up at him accusingly, saying, _"What do you think you're doing?"_

        And what _was_ he doing? He had a big test in two days and instead of studying, he was doing research for his big brother, and why? Why was Sam jeopardizing his grades when his father could probably do all this work for himself?

        For one thing, he'd been challenged. The ghost of Alexandra Baptiste had practically looked him in the face and said _Nyah nyah, nyahnyah, nyah!_ , and it bothered him.

        And there was the matter of the Nazi. Sam had to admit it, he wanted to know how the Nazi had survived the curse. Like Jessica, he found this whole thing a little interesting, and would enjoy figuring it out, not only for Dean's sake, but because that's just what an intelligent mind needed to do when it had been presented with a puzzle.

        Sam was trying to decide whether he should remove some of the already used Post-Its and cut them in half, using the other half to mark more pages, or if he should just forget it and get out another one of those little yellow pads, when someone knocked at the door.

        His face lit up when he saw it was, yet again, Jessica.

        She sheepishly grinned and fidgeted in the doorway. "Uh, hi."

        "Hi," he replied, his hands sweating in his pockets. Sam's heart began to flit like a butterfly from flower to flower.

        "I know I've been back here a few times today... it's a little embarrassing..." Jessica rolled her eyes and smiled wider, showing her teeth.

        Sam chuckled. "You're really cute, you know that?" As soon as the words were out, he wanted to slap his hand over his mouth in shock; he couldn't believe he'd said it out loud. But as soon as Sam saw Jessica's reaction, he was happy he'd said it.

        The smile on her face became even brighter, reaching into her eyes and bubbling out of her mouth in a little giggle. "You're pretty cute too."

        "I'll take that as a compliment." _What a dumb thing to say! Why wouldn't I take a compliment as a compliment?!_

        But Jessica didn't even seem to notice the oddness of the comment. "Good," she replied, giggling some more.

        Well, this could be worse. Sam opened the door wider. "You want to come in?"

        She did, and took a seat next to Sam's desk. "You're still going through those books on Alexandra Baptiste? I'm actually kind of glad... I wanted to see what else you found." Jessica grinned and bounced excitedly in her seat as Sam walked around her to sit in Gerald's desk chair.

        "It's a good thing that you're here, because I'm a bit stumped on something." Rolling Gerald's chair over to his desk, Sam hoped to himself that Jessica hadn't read so much of the books that she would see right through a few little white lies. He intended to mix the things he'd found out through Alexandra's ghost with the accounts that were actually in the books. "In this one..." Sam tapped the book about occult symbolism. "...it talks about Hitler believing that Baptiste's paintings had supernatural powers. Supposedly, you could curse someone by making them view seven of her paintings in a particular order. Seven days later, that person would die."

        "Freaky..." Jessica remarked. "The sea serpent had sevens associated with him, so it makes sense."

        "Right. Apparently, there was an eyewitness who claims that Hitler actually cursed some of his enemies and watched Baptiste's paintings kill them."

        Looking bewildered but fascinated, Jessica said, "How?"

        Sam put a bit of disbelief into his voice when he replied, "The girl in the painting would come to life and crawl out of it."

        "Whoa!" she cried.

        He added, "And the cursed guy would die of fright or something."

        "Wow, Hitler was some loon, believing things like that," Jessica commented with a shake of her head.

        That remark stabbed at Sam's heart a little. He knew he could never tell her the truth about what he'd seen of the supernatural world, and what he believed. "There's a story in the book about a Nazi who wanted to impress Hitler by deliberately cursing himself. But it says that somehow, he escaped death. That's where I'm stumped. How did he do it?"

        Jessica, laughing, replied, "Because there is no curse, Sam."

        "Well I know _that_ , but let's just say for a minute that Hitler believed in this curse to the point that he had concocted some way that a person could survive it. What do you think it would be?" Sam asked, hoping he'd made it sound like a hypothetical situation and not something he really believed.

        Jessica shrugged. "I dunno. Does the book talk about the Nazi doing anything special?"

        "Actually..." Picking up the book, Sam flipped through it, pretending to be looking for a passage that wasn't there. "...he made a reproduction of one of Baptiste's paintings. Took a blank canvas and painted the same thing that he saw in her work of art."

        "Huh." Jessica thought it over. "Maybe he did that with all seven cursed paintings. Made a copy."

        Tilting his head like a curious puppy, Sam said, "Why would he do that?" He knew she was on the right track, and delighted in seeing her figure it out.

        "Well, it's sort of like a print of a painting. When you make a print, you can have mass distribution. The Nazi makes copies of all the paintings, someone else sees them, and they reproduce them too. And the next person does also. And the death curse spreads. Maybe that was the point of it." Shrugging, Jessica crossed her legs and draped her hands over her knee. "Kind of like that shampoo commercial. 'And they told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on.' Except, you know, with death."

        Sam could have smacked himself. She was right. That was exactly the point of the whole thing. The Nazi survived the curse because he copied the paintings. The other men died because they didn't; they probably didn't even know they were cursed. It was an almost foolproof way to pass on such an insidious thing. For a second, Sam almost admired Samara and the others for the ingeniously evil method by which they forced their message upon the world.

        Except that it was a flawed method. The curse couldn't be spreading much anymore, what with all the paintings locked away in the Bloodworth home. Even if some of the copies were still out there, they were large works of art. Not exactly easy to cart around and show to people.

        But still, Jessica had figured it out. The surprise and relief evident on his face, Sam cried, "Jessica, I could kiss you!"

        She giggled and replied, "Then why don't you?"

        That bright smile on her face, so playful it made her eyes twinkle, told him she was completely serious. Sam smiled too, shyly, lowering his head. "Um..." He leaned forward, took her face in his hands, and gave her a sweet little kiss on the mouth. When Sam pulled back, Jessica chased his lips with her own to give him a longer, deeper kiss.

        He _liked_ this. Even if supernatural research had brought them together, this still felt like the most natural, normal thing to be doing right now. There was only one problem. "Not that I'm afraid of the little squirt or anything, but... what about Craig?"

        Jessica sheepishly looked Sam in the eye. "I don't think I want to be with him anymore. All we do is fight."

        The corners of Sam's mouth turned up again until his whole face was alight with possibility. "Well, then breaking up might be the best thing for both of you."

        She grinned. "And you wouldn't like it at all, huh?"

        Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Sam ducked his head and let out a small laugh. It wasn't like Jessica didn't know how he felt now, but to hear her _say_ it...

        She knew when it was time to change the subject. "So... you said there was an eyewitness to these curse deaths? An _eyewitness?_ The hell?"

        Blinking, Sam laughed and sat back. Back to business. "Uh, yeah. The Nazi's daughter. Hitler liked to have her watch."

        Jessica furrowed her brow in disgust. "Oh, God. How old was this kid?"

        "Uh, it doesn't say." He pictured how she'd looked in his dream, and estimated her age. "About eight?"

        "Uck." Jessica put her elbow on Sam's desk and leaned her head on her palm. "She really thinks she saw something crawl out of those paintings?"

        "I guess," Sam said with a shrug.

        "Well, who knows what she really saw, what with all the sick experiments they performed in the concentration camps."

        "Yeah, you've got a point there." In a way, she did. What was this but another of Hitler's horrible experiments?

        Jessica ran her fingers over the cover of one of the books, absently tracing the outlines of the text. "Why her? Why did Hitler choose her?" This subject seemed to be interesting Jessica for the same reasons that people craned their necks to better see the car accident they were passing on the street.

        "Because she was a descendent of Alexandra Baptiste."

        Jessica, eyes going wide, crooned, "Wow."

        Sam just replied, "Yeah."

        Then her face grew confused again. "How did Alexandra Baptiste have descendants?"

        "Huh?"

        "Her daughter Sasha died when she was still very young," Jessica reminded him. "At least, I think that's what the book said."

        "Huh." Sam opened up the book that was a general overview of Baptiste's life and work. In the front, he found a brief biography of her family. "Ah. Says here she had two daughters. The surviving one was older than Sasha."

        "That explains it, then." Jessica opened the other book, flipping through it to see what pages Sam had marked. "You know, it seems like a rather clunky way to run a curse. You can't exactly carry seven paintings around with you."

        Sam nodded. "I was just thinking the same thing." He pulled the book across the desk and looked for the passage about Hitler and the girl. "It says in this one that Hitler encouraged the eyewitness to use the serpent's power to project the cursed images onto film, and spread it that way. It would be more efficient."

        "And portable! Wow, this is one fucked up story!" Taking the book back, Jessica dragged it across the desk, flipping through it some more. "Of course, you could just take this book anywhere you want and show it to people. I mean, practically all the paintings are reproduced in here."

        A cold chill settled in Sam's stomach like a stone. He was silent for a few seconds, digesting and dreading the possibilities she had just raised. "Uh... no. No. Reproducing them in a book... that's not the same thing."

        "What if it is?" Jessica asked with an amused grin. She clearly didn't believe in the curse.

        That conscience voice that sounded like Dean spoke up. _Gee, Sam, first you've got her doing research, next you'll have a gun in her hand. And now you're putting her life in danger._

        Sam mumbled to himself, "What are the odds that we'd look at the exact seven paintings in the exact right order? We've got nothing to worry about."

        Jessica, looking at him, said, "Sam, you believe in the curse, don't you?"

        He was obviously embarrassed. "Well... it's hard not to believe in it a little, after reading all this stuff."

        She scoffed, flipping a few pages. "You're lucky I find your silly superstitions so cute, because all this curse shit? Phooey."

        He'd asked her about Baptiste's art, and _encouraged_ her to get the books for him. If he was responsible for getting Jessica cursed... Sam reached over and with one insistent motion, closed the book she was looking through with a bang. She jumped, staring at him in bewilderment.

        "Just in case," Sam said in explanation, and took the book back.

*****

        On the other side of the country, Stacy lay draped across her bed, tracing a white flower in the pattern of her bedspread with her finger, half of her face pressed lightly into the mattress. After Beckett had dropped her off, she'd weaseled out of watching TV with her mother and sister and gone to her room just to lie on her bed and cry. Stacy had begun to wonder if any of this was worth it.

        She became aware of someone standing next to her bed, at her feet. Stacy already knew who it was, so she shuddered, barely looking at them out of the corner of her eye.

        "You did the right thing," Samara said. Stacy could hardly hear her small voice coming from under her hair. "You have no reason to feel guilty."

        "I don't think so," she replied with a sniffle. "I'm not sure I can go through with this."

        "You have to."

        Stacy gasped, but was too afraid to move, when she felt Samara crawling onto the bed. Samara straddled her body with her hands, crawling on top of her but barely touching her. If the dead little girl being that close wasn't bad enough, the feeling of Samara's wet hair invading Stacy's comfort zone was as it ran over her bare arm and dripped water onto her cheek. Whimpering, Stacy cringed away from the dark strands slithering over her skin. She did not look up. She did not want to see those milky eyes staring back into hers. Stacy fully believed the girls when they said they came from an ancient place of dark divinity, something not to be denied. A mere human girl like her, frail and helpless, could feel the archaic evil coming off them in waves.

        The ghost child spoke softly into her ear. "We own you." And she giggled.

        Inches away from her hand, Stacy's cell phone started to ring. Instantly, Samara was gone from the bed, but Stacy knew she was still nearby, watching. They were _always_ nearby. Sitting up and frantically grabbing the phone, she opened it, hoping it was Beckett calling.

        Jasmine.

        Stacy sighed. Well, they'd have to talk it out sometime, wouldn't they? Jasmine wasn't the type to let something like this go. Wiping tears from her face, she answered the phone. "What?"

        Jasmine stood next to the stone wall that bordered Bassett Park, a few blocks from Stacy's house. "Hi, slugger."

        Trying to hide that she'd been crying, Stacy attempted to keep the quaver out of her voice. "You want another shot at me or something?"

        "Hey, you started that fight and you know it. I'm willing to forget it if you are."

        "That's just because I barely got a punch in," pouted Stacy, lightly touching the skin around her black eye. "If I'd fucked you up as much as you did me, you'd still be angry."

        Jasmine couldn't help but chuckle. "You're probably right about that. Look, let me come over, okay?"

        Glancing at the clock, Stacy said disbelievingly, "You're going to come over at nearly two A.M.?"

        "Yeah. I snuck out just for you. I'm standing on the edge of Bassett Park."

        "Why do you want to come over?"

        Jasmine approached this subject with more than a little unease, but tenacity. "So we can talk about those evil well bitches."

        Stacy lay back down, the tears threatening to come again. "What's there to talk about?"

        "Plenty." Looking around, Jasmine started across the park. It was deserted. "Stace, I heard about the graffiti in the bathroom. Blood all over the walls. 'Please stop me before I kill someone.' You're hurting bad, girl."

        Stacy couldn't keep the tears in anymore; she began to cry with a pitiful wail. "That's not exactly what I wrote."

        "Stacy..."

        "Damn gossipy girls, always hanging out in the bathroom and smoking..."

        She was trying to avoid the subject, and not very well, either. Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Stacy. We've got to tell your mother."

        The teen wailed again. "Don't. Don't, please. She won't be able to help."

        If there was one thing Jasmine held onto in this uncertain world, it was that Mama could always help. "Maybe she will. Give her the chance."

        "No!"

        "Then let's tell _my_ mom. She'll slap those bitches back in their wells." Jasmine got a giggle out of her friend. That was a start. "You know she will," Jasmine added.

        But Stacy was still shaking her head. "There's nothing anyone can do. I'm _marked_ , Jasmine. Didn't you hear them? They're powerful. They're _ancient_. No one's mom can stand against that."

        "I don't care. I'm coming over." And she hung up.

        "Jasmine, wait!" Alarm came over Stacy's face as she listened to nothing but dial tone on the other end of the phone. She scrambled off her bed, bumping a stack of books and notebooks from school that had been placed too close to the edge of her desk. They teetered off the side and scattered on the floor, but she didn't even notice in her hurry to get a jacket. It was her plan to climb out the window and intercept Jasmine in the park before she got to her house. Stacy had no idea if Jasmine was going to come to her window or to just storm right in the front door. Either could be possible with the spirited teen.

        The feeling that someone was standing behind her stopped Stacy cold. Staring. Looming. Samara.

        "That girl is being very troublesome," she said of Jasmine. Stacy's mouth hung slightly open in trepidation; she wasn't even aware of it. "If she keeps making a nuisance of herself, someone will have to _take care_ of her."

        Then Samara was gone again.

        One more moment of stunned immobility and Stacy was snatching up her jacket, heading for the window.

        The breeze from the open window stirred the photographs that Stacy had taken with her digital camera and printed out, then hidden in her notebook. They had fallen out when the books toppled to the floor. The photographs were of Stacy, taken at arm's length, just her face and upper torso; they were a lot like photographs many people had taken of themselves before, including Rachel Keller and Noah Clay.

        Stacy's face was obscured by a strange warping effect, making it look like she was underwater.

        The date in the corner revealed that these pictures had been taken only two days ago.

  
it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki. My fanfic is more based on ideas presented in the films, which were created by director Hideo Nakata and screenwriter Hiroshi Takahashi.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures. This fanfic is heavily inspired by ideas presented in the American movies, which were directed by Gore Verbinski and Hideo Nakata and written by Ehren Kruger.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
 _Supernatural_ is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**


	27. Day 27: Patchwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Samara and the others make good on their threats, Alexandra pulls two people who have never met (Sam being one of them) into a vision that joins the past with the present. They serve as witnesses to Samara's methods of intimidation.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 27: Patchwork  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 27 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in Sept-Oct. 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 4,733  
 **Summary:** While Samara and the others make good on their threats, Alexandra pulls two people who have never met (Sam being one of them) into a vision that joins the past with the present. They serve as witnesses to Samara's methods of intimidation.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter contains the hunting of animals.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #27 Narcissus and Coclaim100 Prompt #27 Passages.  
 **Author's Notes:** This chapter is a cross-over with the TV shows _Supernatural_ and a brief appearance by _Little House on the Prairie_.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford. Very post-series for LHotP.**  
Thanks to Rekka for translating my English into Japanese!  
Title of this chapter comes from the way that the hallucination from the past experienced by two different people at the same time is combined with what is really happening to Jasmine in the present time (which, here, is 2004). Throw in Svetlana's dream from Day 21 and it's a patchwork vision, a crazy quilt!  
The "miss"/"ma'am" thing? Actually happened to me. I was the "ma'am." >_<  
For those of you who see "cross-over with _Little House on the Prairie_ " and think, "Must be crack!fic," you're very wrong. LHotP wasn't just a sappy, goodie-two-shoes show full of church and life lessons. It often got very, very _dark_. Those darker aspects of the show are explored in this x-over.

  
Eight blocks. Eight blocks between Stacy's house and Bassett Park. It didn't sound that far, but to a worried, frantic teenager, it might as well have been eight miles.

The park itself covered half a mile of forested trails and two playgrounds - Jasmine could be anywhere within its boundaries. When Stacy got closer, she would call Jasmine again and find out exactly where she was. She quickened her pace, anxious to meet up with her friend before anything happened to her.

Jasmine currently headed across one of the playgrounds, passing between the swings and the slide with the big clown head at the top. One block away, Beckett suddenly came awake, his eyes unfocused. He remembered lying down on his bed to finish his homework, but must've fallen asleep; his Algebra II book still lay open under his folded arms. Crap, he'd planned to call Jasmine before eleven... it was after 2 AM now. Beckett had no choice but to wait for school tomorrow to ask her if she knew what was going on with Stacy.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was picking up his phone and dialing Jasmine's number against his will.

When her phone rang, Jasmine expected it to be Stacy. Her brow furrowed in confusion when she saw it was Beckett. Maybe Stacy had called him. "Beckett? What are you doing up?"

"I talked to Stacy." His voice sounded strange, a little too high and a bit childlike. "I'm coming to see you."

"You'll be meeting me?"

"Yeah. Wait there for us, okay?"

"Stacy told you where I am?"

"I know." Beckett suppressed the urge to giggle.

"Is she meeting us too?" Jasmine asked, wondering because he'd said 'us' when referring to for whom she should wait.

"Uh huh."

"Stace probably doesn't want to wake her mom, huh?"

"No, she certainly doesn't." Unable to help it, Beckett let out a little giggle.

Jasmine laughed slightly, paused, and then questioned, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied with another giggle.

"Have you been drinking? You're acting funny."

Tittering giddily, Beckett said, "You'll see," teasing her.

Jasmine had no idea why he seemed so cheerful when his girlfriend was so upset, but decided that maybe he'd taken a nip or two before Stacy called him. "Whatever. I'm in the playground with the clown slide. See you when you get here."

"Bye." Beckett hung up and began giggling mischievously without reserve, like a little girl.

Stacy still had six blocks to go.

Beckett was out his window and in the park within two minutes. As soon as Jasmine saw him, she was convinced he had been drinking because of the giddy look of anticipation on his face, like a child about to play with his favorite toy.

"Hi again," he said.

"Hey..." Jasmine's brow knitted quizzically. "You're awfully bouncy tonight."

Beckett snickered, his fingertips to his lips. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

There was a long pause as Jasmine tried to figure out what was going on. "Uh, yeah, you're Beckett. Are you playing some kind of game here?"

"We're playing Run, Rabbit, Run," he replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Uhhh huh. Well, this is a lousy time for that. Stacy's freaking out and she needs us. So sober up real quick, okay?" Jasmine's tone had become stern and lacked all patience.

"You don't understand..."

As those words came out of his mouth, Jasmine became overwhelmed with the feeling that someone was standing behind her. She turned her head and peered out of the corner of her eye to see a girl with long, dark hair standing there; her hair obscured most of her face. Jasmine, horrified, realized that it was one of those girls, the girls who came to Stacy's house that night. The girls who each crawled out of a phantom well.

"...I'm _not_ Beckett," he finished, and snickered again, hissing through his teeth.

Jasmine stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. She frantically tried to sort out what the hell was happening. "Then who are you?"

Instead of answering with a name, the two girls began to sing. "Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby. When you wake, you'll have cake, and all the pretty little horses..."

Swallowing hard, Jasmine tried to argue for safe passage from their grip. "Why are you bothering me? I didn't even watch that damn tape."

"Because you're a meddler," Samara said through Beckett.

"Meddler," Charlotte added, practically spitting the word in disgust.

"I haven't done anything to you. Just let me go, okay?"

"You can't be allowed to go. You're meddling. Why couldn't you just mind your own business?" Charlotte hissed.

Just like that night at Stacy's house, Jasmine began to feel the air around her growing thinner, permeated with evil. Oppressive and claustrophobic. She tried to run in the opposite direction, but Charlotte was there, too. "You can't get away," she laughed. "We won't have our dog taken from us."

"What the hell are you talking about? I didn't take any dog," Jasmine said angrily.

"You're trying to help her right now," Samara-Beckett said. "Stacy."

"She's our dog," laughed Charlotte.

"We own her."

Looking back and forth between Charlotte and Beckett, Jasmine said, "I remember the deal. But what did you do to Beckett? He didn't watch the tape either."

"Some people are special. Some people can do things," Samara-Beckett explained.

"She can possess people like that," Charlotte finished.

It took Jasmine a few seconds to comprehend what they were trying to say. "You can possess people who can do weird psychic stuff, like what Beckett sees when he touches things?"

"Um hm."

"Oh, fuck."

"Want to know what else I can do in this body?"

"Not particularly." Jasmine looked for an opening to run.

"I can keep you from telling anyone about it." A wicked look upon his face, Beckett advanced on her.

*****

Now alone in his dorm room, Sam chewed on the end of a pen cap and thought about Jessica. He really tried to focus on homework, but his train of thought always drifted back to her. Her soft blonde hair between his fingers, how good she smelled, the feel of her warm lips on his... at this rate, he wouldn't get anything done.

"You think you've figured something out, hm?"

Eyes in an angry squint, Sam turned around to face the ghost of Alexandra Baptiste. He hadn't heard or sensed her presence this time, but he recognized that voice. "Wow. You're as quiet as a mouse," Sam said, and amended, "A really evil mouse."

"Cute. I asked you a question."

"Like I give a crap. But yeah, we did figure something out. You survive the curse by making reproductions of all the paintings. Jessica figured it out, actually." Sam spoke in a confident, almost conceited tone.

"Clever. Are you sure that's all?"

The smug grin faltered briefly. "No. I never said we figured out everything."

"There's much you don't know about us and our curse, Sam Winchester," Alexandra assured. "You shouldn't fool with dangerous things you don't understand."

Jeering, Sam replied, "You say that as if I've never hunted your kind before."

Alexandra smirked. "It isn't necessarily yourself you should be worried about."

The smile instantly melted from Sam's face, replaced by a look of protective fury. "You leave Jess out of this."

"I will if you will."

He remembered the books. The paintings in the books. And he bargained. "I didn't mean to put her in danger. She hasn't done anything to threaten you, not really. Your paintings, the ones reproduced in the books... looking at them doesn't curse a person, does it?"

Smiling roguishly, Alexandra moved a little closer to him, leaning down into his face. "That would be a sticky situation for you to be in if it does, wouldn't it?" She watched the alarm flash in his eyes before continuing, not giving him a chance to protest. "I want to be friendly with you, Sam. I'll answer your question. No, looking at my paintings reproduced in the books does not curse you. You must view actual works of art, the originals or the painted copies. There must be motion to enact the curse. There must be the flurry of brushes on canvas, the laying on of paint. The action of the arms and hands. The click and whir of machinery."

Confused, Sam repeated, "The click and whir of machinery?"

"As I said, Sam..." She leaned in, locking eyes with him. "...there is much you do not know about our curse."

Sam attempted to figure out what she meant, going over it in his head. Alexandra interrupted his train of thought by saying, "There are things I can show you so you'll better understand. You still think you have a chance of stopping us if you can just figure out how we operate, but you're wrong."

Already the walls of his room were changing; Sam sat up straight in alarm and helplessly watched them give way to a forest in the daylight. "How are you doing this? I'm not even asleep!"

"Dreams aren't the only thing we can send to you, Sam." Alexandra faded from view.

"Hey! Are you leaving me here?!" He wasn't sure at first if she had actually sent him somewhere or if this was all an illusion. When Alexandra didn't answer, Sam looked around in an attempt to figure out what she wanted him to see. He experimentally put his hand on a tree; it passed right through it. "A-ha. This isn't real. It's a mirage."

A group of people came through the brush, talking and laughing. Sam recognized some of them. A man, a little overweight, with graying hair, whom Alexandra had painted in several of her works of art, and the girl from one of the double-sided paintings, Samara - she was riding on his shoulders. Another of the daughters of Heptamera, Charlotte, walked beside them. The other two guys, Sam had not seen before. All of the men carried hunting rifles.

One of the paintings of the man now carrying Samara was called _Richard Morgan_. That was enough for Sam to believe that must be his name.

"Didn't I tell you this is excellent hunting grounds, boys?" Richard said.

One of his buddies replied, "I did see two deer on our way in here." He held his hands apart. "Big ol' racks of antlers."

"I'd like to get me one of those," the other man remarked.

"Patience, gentlemen. Just let me put my good luck charms to work." Richard was holding Samara's hands; he now shook them playfully. She beamed with love and pride at the attention.

Charlotte also smiled. Apparently, they were the 'good luck charms.'

"How does this work, Richard?"

"You two go wait in the clearing. Samara and her cousin will flush out the game. There's no shooting in this area, okay? The girls will be here. They'll send the game to you."

"How do you do that?" the hunting pal asked the older child, Charlotte.

She shrugged. "Just something we have a knack for."

"Don't concern yourself with that," Richard said with a chuckle. "You just get ready for all the prime game that'll be coming your way."

The two men looked at each other dubiously. Sam could understand why they were skeptical. Who would believe that two kids, maybe 6 and 8 years old if he was guessing their ages right, could flush out game and send them in a particular direction? Obviously, these two men were not aware of what made Samara and Charlotte special.

Richard shook his head and laughed. "Trust me, boys. You'll be amazed."

*****

For Jolene, it was the middle of the night, over 3,000 miles away from this young man whom she did not know, but their paths were about to intersect in a way they could not have imagined.

She stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light, yawning at her reflection in the mirror. Hollister still slept in her bed. After using the toilet, Jolene returned to the mirror over the sink to examine her face, frowning at it. Had the lines around her eyes gotten deeper? God, getting old sucked.

The other day, as she left work, a man held the door open for her and the dental assistant in front of her. When Jenn passed by him, he said, "Good evening, miss." When Jolene passed by him, he said, "Goodnight, _ma'am_."

Ooh, that burned her ass.

She put her fingertip on her temple and stretched out the skin next to her eye to see how it was supposed to look. Maybe she should get Botox injections. Did they do that for crow's feet?

Either way, Jolene knew she still had it. At least, a hot number like Hollister thought so. They were both still in demand at nearly 40, and there was something to be said for that. Jolene posed like a pin-up girl, piling her hair on top of her head and puckering her lips at the mirror. _Oh yeah, still got it._

When the dark bedroom through the doorway behind her began to fill with trees, at first, Jolene's sleepy mind didn't register that anything was abnormal. Then her eyebrows dipped in the middle ( _Don't do that! It causes lines in the forehead!_ ) and she turned to look.

The bedroom was disappearing. It was changing into a forest full of trees, in daylight, even. The darkness of her bedroom, with the silhouette of Hollister under the covers, rapidly vanished, to be replaced by another one of Samara's goddamn hallucinations.

Panicking, Jolene called, "Hollister!" as if there was something he could do to help. She whirled around in time to catch her reflection in the mirror one last time before it, too, changed into a tree. Within seconds of its beginning, the hallucination had left Jolene standing in a grouping of trees in her bare feet and black lace nightie.

"Holy fucking..." She noticed three men standing in a clearing about twenty feet away, waiting with guns in hand. At first, Jolene folded her arms across her scantily clad chest, but then remembered that people could never see her in these illusions. The ghosts, however, were different.

"It'd be just my luck that one of them's a ghost. And a _cop_ ," Jolene muttered, trying to cover herself.

Richard turned more toward her and pointed his gun in that direction, testing the sight.

"Hey, don't point that thing at me!" she screamed, and moved to one side.

Sam was intently watching Samara and Charlotte on the opposite side of the thick stand of trees, about thirty feet from Jolene. The two little girls had expressions of intense concentration on their faces, eyes squeezed shut. Charlotte had her fingertips to her temples, just like Cheyenne Bloodworth when she used her powers. Her _identical_ powers, Sam was convinced of it now.

Charlotte began to speak to the open air. "Come, my sisters. Help us flush out the rabbit. The rabbit seeks to hurt us."

"The rabbit," Samara repeated.

"Safe passage for my sisters. Come, help us."

"Help us," said Samara.

The children both relaxed a bit, opening their eyes, and looked out over the forest with expressions of vitriol. "They're coming," Charlotte whispered.

Somewhere out there, an animal bayed in fear.

"Hey, don't point that thing at me!"

Sam turned toward the sound of the voice and spotted someone moving among the trees. He decided to investigate.

Jolene heard Sam coming before she got a good look at him; the leaves crunched under his feet. He had to be the biggest guy she'd ever seen, next to Hollister, but he was overall very non-threatening with his shaggy hair and boyish face. He came loping toward her, a confused look in his eyes. "What's the matter, ma'am?"

 _That word again!_ "I'll tell you what's the matter. That asshole over there just pointed his gun at me and... you can see me?!"

"Yeah. You can see me?"

"How could I miss you?" Jolene tried to cover her chest. "Are you another ghost?"

"No, I'm alive. I'm Sam." He looked her up and down, from her tosseled blonde hair to her bare feet, partially buried in leaves. "What are you doing out here dressed like that?"

"A couple minutes ago, I was resting comfortably in my bed, and I got up to use the can and out of nowhere, my room turns into these woods. It's that little brat, Samara. She and the ghost with the lace hood keep doing this shit to me," Jolene ranted angrily.

Ghost with the lace hood... "Are you a hunter?"

"No. I told you, I'm not with them." She gestured with her head at the men waiting with their guns.

"What's your name?"

"Jolene." As Sam tried to figure the situation out, so did she. "Did you watch the tape too?"

Sam's face worked in confusion. "Tape?" Four snippets of conversation and passages he had read played themselves back in his mind.

 _You know, it seems like a rather clunky way to run a curse. You can't exactly carry seven paintings around with you._

 _The ring has been in operation for more than two hundred years. It has changed with the times, but it still functions._

 _Hitler also suggested that film might be a more efficient way to accomplish the seven-day curse, and told her to experiment with it to see what results she could get by making her own "cursed films."_

 _The click and whir of machinery._

The realization came to Sam's face just as Jolene opened her mouth to explain. "There's a _videotape_ ," he said, mentally kicking himself.

"You just learned this?" she commented. "So you didn't watch it?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Uh... that's a bit complicated."

He had barely finished his sentence when Jolene squealed in surprise; something furry ran over her foot. They both looked down to see rabbits, twenty or thirty of them, running along the ground toward the hunters. The animals seemed afraid, almost crazed.

Sam and Jolene heard the voices of the children in their heads. _"Run, rabbit, run. Through the woods and trees to your burrow. Maybe you can make it to safety."_

"Those girls are doing it. They're attacking the animals," Jolene said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw something brown, much bigger, charging through the trees. He turned just in time for the adult buck, full rack of antlers aimed at his chest, to run into him headlong. He heard Jolene scream and felt the wind of the deer's motion, but it took him several frantic seconds to realize that the animal passed _through_ him, as if he was not really there.

The deer blindly slammed into a tree next to Jolene and then charged on by. She screamed again. One of the hunters beyond cried, "Whoa!" and then the barrage of gunfire began.

"Are you okay?" Jolene called. "That's happened to me before. Scary, isn't it?"

Still panting, Sam tried to recover from how bad he'd been startled by the experience. The deer had run through him as if he was about as substantial as a paper doll. "It's all an illusion. We're not really here."

"We are and we aren't. Like you said, it's complicated."

More rabbits, a few raccoons, and a gaggle of squirrels scurried by. The hunters only shot at the animals they really wanted.

 _"Run, rabbit, run. I'm going to show you something. And you know you're not going to like it."_

Astonished, Sam watched as a black teenage girl ran by, keeping time with the animals. She had a cell phone to her ear and was talking to someone in a panicked tone. "I'm alone in the park. He's still following me! Send the cops, quick!"

Jolene thought she recognized her. "I've seen that kid before. Hey Jasmine! You're Jasmine, right?" she called.

Jasmine kept going as if she couldn't hear her.

She was being pursued by Samara. But a different Samara. A little older, taller, with her wet hair covering her face. The condition of her skin could only be described as withered, dead. Sam gazed over at the younger, live Samara; she and Charlotte concentrated on the animals. They ran around the girls in streams like a forked river. As he watched, a _moose_ charged out of the brush and headed right for the children, bleating angrily. Sam gasped at the sheer size of the animal, especially compared to the smallness of the two girls. It got within a few feet of them and stumbled on its long, clumsy legs, eyes wild. The moose almost fell in its effort to halt the charge and ran around Samara and Charlotte as if they had somehow _discouraged_ it from trampling them. Sam thought he knew how. The animal headed right for the hunters.

Jasmine did also.

"No, not that way!" hollered Jolene, running after the teen. The moose charged up behind her.

"It's mine!" one of Richard's hunting pals declared. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Jolene recoiled as if she'd been hit, but it was the moose that went down. Jasmine ran right through the hunters as if _they_ were the ones who weren't there. A second of comprehension and Jolene began to scream.

Sam faintly heard the hunters celebrating the spectacular kill as he ran to Jolene. "Are you hit? Let me see!"

She wouldn't stop screaming, arms spread out at her sides in shock. "He shot me! Oh God, the bastard shot me!"

Sam examined her chest. There was a smoking bullet hole in her nightie, close to her heart, but no wound. "There's no blood. You aren't hit."

Jolene didn't seem to be able to stop screaming; she was almost crying now. Sam heard a faint male voice calling out, "Jolene! What's the matter? Jolene!" and watched as her body moved as if someone was shaking her. "Jolene!" The woman's face jerked to one side, accompanied by the sound of a hand slapping her skin. A second later, she was gone, and Sam was left on his own, hoping she was all right.

Hollister finally saw recognition in Jolene's eyes when she turned her face back to him. She instantly burst into tears.

"Hollister! _Danny!_ Don't let her take me away again!" She grabbed onto him and held on tight.

"Jolene, you've been here the whole time," he replied, smoothing down her hair in an effort to calm her. "I think you had another hallucination."

"But he _shot_ me!" She put her finger through the bullet hole and wiggled it. The action made her realize that there was no blood or even an injury on her chest, just as Sam had said. "But... I felt..."

Since she was already holding out her nightie, Hollister peeked down its front, then turned her sideways and looked at her back. "There's another bullet hole back here," he announced in disbelief.

They examined the two largely circular rips in the fabric of Jolene's nightie like they were looking at a mirage. She finally said, "An entrance and an exit hole. I was there, but not there."

"What happened?"

"I better write a passage in my journal about it while it's still fresh in my mind." Jolene got on the bed and dug her journal out of the nightstand.

"Your 'I'm seeing fucked up shit' journal?"

"That's only its nickname. Its official name is my 'Holy crap when will this fucking week ever end' journal," Jolene joked back. She lay across the bed on her stomach and opened the little book; she had already detailed her other hallucinations in its pages. "You can read it when I'm done."

"Okay." Hollister paused long enough to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad whoever shot you didn't really shoot you. Not only because you're kinda cool, but because it would have looked pretty messed up to the police," he chuckled.

"Really," Jolene agreed, and added, "Especially since we both own guns."

The first thing Jolene wrote down was a name. She wanted to make sure she didn't forget it.

 _Sam._

*****

Following after Jasmine and the dead Samara, Sam made note of the name of each person he'd seen. _Jolene. Jasmine._ He was convinced they were real people, and he would check the paper for their names tomorrow. Sam hoped he wouldn't find them, because that would mean certain tragedy.

A videotape. He and Jessica had been right on the edge of figuring that one out. What was on the videotape? Images of the paintings? They must all be concerned with Samara; she was the one pursuing the girl.

As Sam watched, Samara changed for a split second into someone else. He didn't have time to get a good look at him, but he thought it was a dark-haired teenage boy. _"Okay, I'm lost,"_ Sam thought.

"Are the police coming?" Jasmine cried into her phone, looking over her shoulder.

Sam tried calling her name, but it didn't seem she could hear him either. She looked to her right and then to her left, gasping in agitation and fear. "How many of there are you?!" Jasmine wailed.

Looking in each direction, Sam saw them too. More girls like Samara: long, wet hair obscuring their faces, some tall like older girls, some small like children. Two girls in similar dresses, holding hands. A taller girl in a long, white dress, jerking when she walked in ways that seemed painful and unnatural. One who wasn't quite tall enough to be a woman, on the edge of adulthood, whose hair differed from the others in that it was clearly platinum blonde when dry, wearing an old fashioned dress and high-button shoes. Her stockings were torn in three places. These girls loomed in the forest, walking slowly toward Jasmine like horror movie zombies. They were playing a game with her, the aim to menace and scare her as much as possible.

Three more deer dashed through the trees; Sam watched as they passed through Jasmine as the one deer had him. He wondered as he saw her sprint through a grouping of trees as if they weren't there if she was even seeing the same forest he was.

Splashing through one end of a culvert filled with rainwater, Jasmine attempted to make it to the road. Leafy branches whipped at her face and arms as she tried to push them out of the way. _Gotta get to the road, flag down a car. Escape from the crazy bitches._

"Jigoku wa genjitsu da," Sadako said on the wind. And then in clipped English, "Hell is real."

His head snapping in that direction, Sam listened and realized that the girl who had said that must be the one who spoke in Japanese to him through the television. He didn't let that distract him for long. Although Jasmine probably couldn't see him, Sam was determined to catch up with her. She was fast, but how could he just stand back and watch a young girl in jeopardy without trying to help her? He ran as hard as he could and felt himself gaining ground. Sam passed Samara; she turned to go another way, possibly taking a shortcut. He closed in on the girl. His breath coming out in loud pants, Sam reached for her shoulder. He could feel her hair brushing his fingertips. Closer... closer...

Sam's hand slammed into the bookshelf next to the window of the dorm room he shared with Gerald. Because it happened so suddenly, he couldn't stop his urgent forward motion, and careened into the bookcase, almost tipping it over. He cried out in pain, falling to the floor, and yelped again as several books fell from the teetering bookcase and hit him on the arm and chest. It took him a few seconds to recover and figure out that Alexandra had deliberately yanked him out of the hallucination at the most crucial moment. "You fucking bitch!" Sam yelled at the ceiling in rage.

Jasmine could see the road ahead. "Ha! I'm a member of the track team, you stupid brats!" she shouted. Almost there. She was going to make it!

 _"Run, rabbit, run. Maybe you can make it to safety,"_ Samara taunted. _"But I doubt it."_

  
it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki. My fanfic is more based on ideas presented in the films, which were created by director Hideo Nakata and screenwriter Hiroshi Takahashi.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures. This fanfic is heavily inspired by ideas presented in the American movies, which were directed by Gore Verbinski and Hideo Nakata and written by Ehren Kruger.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
 _Supernatural_ is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.  
 _Little House on the Prairie (TV Series)_ is (c) 1974 NBC Enterprises and Lionsgate Home Entertainment.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**


	28. Day 28: Closer, My Dear, Come Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Jessica discuss the curious and dark case of the Bloodworth family, where cruel methods were used to bring out the childrens' psychic powers. His suspicions about Cheyenne Bloodworth are confirmed. Sam/Jess.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 28: Closer, My Dear, Come Closer  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 28 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in Oct. 2008.  
 **Word Count:** 4,783  
 **Summary:** Sam and Jessica discuss the curious and dark case of the Bloodworth family, where cruel methods were used to bring out the childrens' psychic powers. His suspicions about Cheyenne Bloodworth are confirmed. Sam/Jess.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter contains the hunting of animals, as well as fictional historic content concerning Adolf Hitler and the Nazi SS guard.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #28 Innocence and Coclaim100 Prompt #28 Unbound.  
 **Author's Notes:** This chapter is a cross-over with the TV shows _Supernatural_ and a brief appearance by _Little House on the Prairie_.  
 **Set pre-series for _Supernatural_ , during Sam's years at Stanford. Very post-series for LHotP.**  
Thanks to Rekka for translating my English into Japanese!  
More notes at the end of the chapter.

  
        Just two yards from possible salvation and Jasmine ran headlong into Beckett, who turned in front of her, blocking her path. He seemed immovable, as she stumbled and almost fell down from the sudden impact. Before Jasmine could recover, Beckett's eyes filmed over, milky and dead, and she was lifted into the air by a power Samara didn't use as often - her psychokinesis. Jasmine yelped in surprise and terror. It startled her so much, she dropped her cell phone on the ground.

        "The police are on their way," Jasmine said, mustering as much courage as she could.

        "Do you really think we're afraid of them?" Beckett questioned in that soft, childlike Samara voice. "We all have policemen in our wells."

        Several of the other girls like Samara emerged from the forest, surrounding them. The German twins. Sadako, the Japanese teenager. The blonde adoptee from post-Civil War America. The quiet Asian exchange student on the 'Missing' poster in the student union. And Charlotte, the bitter high schooler with her happy future torn from her. They looked up at Jasmine with venomous stares.

        "Why do you want to hurt us?" Charlotte asked. "You don't know what we've been through."

        "This is none of your business," the Asian exchange student said.

        "You should have kept out of it," added the frontier-era adolescent.

        "Watashi-tachi wa irona riyuu ga aru no yo," Sadako declared.

        "You can't possibly know our pain," said one of the German twins in heavily accented English.

        "You should consider yourself lucky that you don't," Samara-Beckett finished. "'Though you're about to find out."

        Police sirens came closer and closer. She just needed to buy a little more time. Making a desperate effort not to cry, Jasmine frantically screamed, "Beckett! Fight her! Don't let them hurt me!"

        "Beckett's sleeping. You shouldn't be worried about him. You should be worried about yourself." Samara puppeted the boy to raise his hand, which he gestured with toward Jasmine. "If you survive, remember that this is only a fraction of the pain we've endured. Keep your nose out of our business." He swept his hand toward the road, spinning his index finger.

        "No, wait!" The last word was almost cut off as Jasmine's head whipped back with the force of her body being hurled into the road.

        The police car held two cops. Their intention had been to park and find the girl and the man she said was following her. But, the girl found them.

        Officer Hanley was saying, "...is she wearing a jacket or coat?" when his partner cried out and slammed on the brakes.

        What they saw was a black teenage female illuminated by the headlights, coming out of the trees on the left side of the road as if someone or something had thrown her. She was _spinning_ as she flew through the air. The policeman could not keep from hitting her. For a moment, they saw the fear on her face as her body rolled up on the hood and connected with the windshield, then was tossed off the front of the car and landed several feet away in the road, broken and unconscious.

        While the policemen got out of their car, checking on Jasmine as they radioed for an ambulance, Beckett made his way quietly through the trees and headed back to his house. They never saw him.

        The police never saw Stacy either, who had made it to the park just in time to hear voices in the forest, a police siren, and then the sound of the car hitting her friend's body. She now peeked from behind a piece of playground equipment to watch the policemen hovering over Jasmine, talking into one of their shoulder radios, occasionally scanning the woods with a flashlight. When one of them stepped further into the trees and bent down to examine Jasmine's cell phone, Stacy slipped out and ran back toward her house.

        Three blocks away and she stopped, breathless and overcome with guilt, and crouched beside a stone wall to sob into her hands. Those girls did it. If Jasmine died, Stacy felt she would be partially responsible. Her best friend was just an innocent bystander, trying to help her. Oh God, what if she was already dead?!

        The ambulance passed her on its way to the park, sirens blaring. Stacy said a silent prayer that they would get there in time.

*****

        Sam had barely had time to put any of the books back on the shelf when a corner of his room faded and changed into the clearing, the clearing in the forest where Richard and the other hunters had stood. He defensively raised one of the books, as if there was anyone to hit, but lowered it when he realized the phantoms just had one more thing to show him.

        The hunters celebrated over a pile of dead deer, the moose, and many rabbits. One of them was talking about how his daughter had always wanted a patchwork rabbit fur coat. Richard picked up Samara and spun her around; she giggled, smiling from ear to ear.

        "Richard, when you said you could provide the best hunting experience I've ever had, you weren't just blowing smoke up my ass," one of the hunters said. "This hunt was monumental."

        The other added, "Worth every penny."

        Disgusted with this bit of information, Sam muttered to himself, "He made them _pay_ to go?"

        Alexandra appeared nearby; Sam saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned toward her. "Can you believe the man exploited his own child like that? His adopted child, anyway." They watched Richard put Samara on his shoulders and dance around, singing a little song. Delighted laughter bubbled from her mouth. "These hunts were the only reason he ever spent any time with her."

        Sam noticed the sad tone in Alexandra's voice, like Samara was a creature to be pitied. "You're trying to make me feel sorry for her," he said cynically.

        "Do you think their lives were always easy?" Alexandra regarded him as one would a child, like one day, Sam would finally get it.

        Salt was not really something he kept in his room. Not only would it look odd for him to have a bag of rock salt under his bed, but also, Sam wanted anything that had to do with hunting as far from his new life as possible. Or so, he thought he did. Gerald did, however, have a set of heavy iron bookends on the shelf next to Sam's head. Sam picked one up and threatened to throw it at Alexandra. "You can't make me feel anything but contempt for your girls, so stop trying. My father and brother are going to wipe up the floor with you. So get out of my room, lady."

        A brief pause to regard his behavior and she began to laugh at him derisively. "We won't be stopped. Not by you or anyone in your family. You should trust me when I say that it would be better for all of you if you just mind your own business. That's what Jasmine should have done."

        Swallowing hard, Sam replied, "What did you do to the girl?"

        "Oh, you want me to stay now? You want to have a chat?" Alexandra asked with a mocking laugh. "Well, Sam, I'll tell you. I'll tell you that you might want to buy the girl some flowers. Would you like to know what hospital she's in?"

        With an exasperated grunt, Sam threw the bookend at her. Alexandra dissipated before it hit the ground.

*****

        After his two morning classes, Sam found an empty table in the library and began searching pertinent sections of the local newspaper for articles about anything happening to a woman named Jolene or a teenager named Jasmine. Nothing. Next, he looked through a bigger paper for the closest major city. So far, it also yielded nothing helpful. Overall, that was good, but also very frustrating, as Sam needed to know if they were all right.

        He had turned another page and started scanning it when he heard a familiar, very welcome voice heading his way, quietly singing a song.

        "Put another nickel in, in the nickelodeon. All I want is kissing you and music, music, music."

        Sam's face lit up when he raised his head to see Jessica, singing a little song and doing a little dance much like the flappers used to do in the 1920's. She danced up to the table, grinning at him, a book in her hands.

        "Well hello there you. Something's got you in a fantastic mood," he laughed. "Where'd you get that song, the eighteen-hundreds?"

        Being playful, Jessica danced the Charleston, presenting the book as if it was the centerpiece of her routine. "1949, actually." She held her arms out in a 'Ta-da!' motion. A couple students who had been staring at her now clapped; she bowed with a flourish. The librarian shushed them.

        "Would you sit down before you get us thrown out?" Sam said with a chuckle. "Just say no, Jessica."

        She plopped the book down on the table like she was offended. "I'll have you know, Mr. Winchester, that I'm high on life." Jessica pushed the book toward him. "I'm in a good mood because of this." She grinned. "I found you the motherload."

        "What's this?" Sam read the title. _The Bloodworth Case._

        "I decided to see what else I could dig up, so I started with the publisher of the Alexandra Baptiste books, Marigold Publishing. It's owned by... wait for it..."

        "Who?" he said with a laugh, nudging her arm.

        Jessica's grin widened. "The Bloodworth family."

        Sam was instantly reminded of those V-8 commercials where people smacked themselves in the forehead. Rowan Bloodworth looked more and more suspicious by the minute. "Well, that's one way to get your books published."

        "Yeah," Jess laughed. "I did a general search through the list of books they've published and found this one." She tapped the book on the table. "It's been out of print for around ten years, but luckily, the library had a copy."

        "And this is the motherload?" Sam, turning the book over, started to read the summary on the back.

        With a laugh, Jessica grabbed the book and tried to take it from him. "If you don't appreciate the very interesting book I found you, I could always take it back."

        He laughed too, and they wrestled over it briefly. "Come on, Jess. I want to see what it's about."

        "I'll _tell_ you what it's about." Sam allowed her to take the book, sitting back and grinning. He loved to just listen to her talk. Jessica claimed, "I happen to have read it."

        "Oh, really? In one morning?"

        "Okay, no, I didn't read it all. But I did skim it, and read certain passages that looked interesting in their entirety."

        "Well don't make me wait, woman. Tell me what happened," Sam chuckled.

        "I think I will." Jessica turned her nose up at him like a snooty maitre d', putting the book down with a pinky raised. "If you think you're worthy."

        "I'm not, but tell me anyway."

        "Alright." Losing the snooty routine, Jess sat forward with her arms on the table. "The book's about an experiment conducted in the early 1990's involving the children of William Bloodworth, A.K.A. Bill." She said 'Bill' mockingly, as if she didn't like the man very much.

        "Let me guess. Rowan Bloodworth was one of those children," Sam suggested. _And Cheyenne was the other._

        "Very good, Samhopper. He has a sister named Cheyenne. Marigold Publishing has been in the Bloodworth family for generations, since before the Civil War. After Bill's wife Lillian died, he kind of went a little cuckoo. He claimed that his kids had psychic powers and paid all these scientists and doctors to come in and run experiments on them."

        "What was he trying to prove?"

        "That they were psychic, I guess. After the experiments were over, he took Cheyenne on a tour of the country, showing off her 'psychic abilities.' Made a ton off of lectures and books he wrote about it. All published by Marigold, of course." Jessica shook her head. "Can you believe a father would do something like that to his own innocent children?"

        "That's horrible," Sam agreed, although he could have elaborated on the subject from his own experience with fathers and what they did in reaction to the supernatural.

        "Tells you a bit more about his motivations, huh? Anyway, they set the lab up in Bloodworth's home, which is this huge mansion north of here - I think his family still owns it - and they set about trying to bring out Rowan and Cheyenne's powers," Jessica explained.

        "What, the kids hadn't even shown any signs that they had them?"

        "Not exactly."

        "Then why did Bloodworth bring a whole team of scientists in there?"

        With a sly smile, Jessica replied, "Because their mother, Lillian, said her children were psychic. That _she_ was psychic. That it ran in the family... because they were descendants of Alexandra Baptiste."

        Blinking, Sam sat back in his chair, no longer joking or laughing. "Hold on. I thought the Nazi and his daughter were the descendants."

        "They were. Or, she was, anyway." Again, Jessica grinned with mirth; she knew things Sam didn't, and it was fun to see his reaction to them. "Her name was Suzette Christaller. Maiden name, Metternich. She had a twin, Sophia, who died during World War II. Sophie was always very sickly."

        Sam, remembering the illusion from the night before, pictured the twin girls holding hands out in the forest.

        "As an adult, Suzette claimed she and, of course, her twin, were the descendants of Alexandra Baptiste, from her mother's side. The father of the twins was Dr. Rudolf Metternich..." She took a dramatic pause for effect. "...of the Nazi SS medical corps."

        Momentarily closing his eyes, Sam shook his head and uttered, "You are shitting me."

        "I most definitely am not. Suzette survived the war, got married, and gave birth to a daughter."

        Now, Sam gave a small nod. "Lillian."

        "Yes. And she had Rowan and Cheyenne with Bill Bloodworth. Suzette Christaller was the one who started the whole psychic bloodline thing; she put the ideas in Lillian's head about her children. When the kids were still pretty young, Bill wanted to begin the experiments, but Suzette objected, and their differences separated them for a few years. I think that Lillian was just standing by her husband. I mean, she doesn't seem like a bad mother." Jessica shrugged.

        "What makes you say that?"

        "Just the way the kids talk about her in the book. They each recalled some of their favorite memories." She ran a finger over the book's cover, thinking about what she'd read. "With her mother out of her life, Lillian was open to manipulation, I guess. You know her grandfather, the Nazi?"

        "Yeah..." Sam replied.

        "Turns out he escaped when the war ended. Spent more than forty years in South America. In the late 1980's, he came to America to spend his last years with his granddaughter and great-grandchildren." Scoffing, Jessica added, "I think Bill Bloodworth learned a thing or two from him."

        "You're kidding," said Sam, amazed. "They _harbored_ a former Nazi?"

        "Bill claims he wasn't aware of Dr. Metternich's past. He says the Nazi used a fake name around strangers, which he did think was pretty weird. But it seems like Lillian was the only one who knew the truth. She did nothing about it because she adored him."

        "So the Nazi turned over a new leaf."

        "That's what was so scary about the Nazis, really. They spent their days murdering people in all sorts of grisly ways, and then went home to their families as loving parents." Jessica scrunched up her face in disgust. "I'm sure some of them were monsters at home as well, but not all of them, from what their surviving families have said."

        "Yeah. Pretty terrifying, really," Sam sighed. "How does a person bring himself to the point of thinking of the killing of men, women, and children as a _job?_ "

        Jessica, shuddering, agreed with him. "Well, good thing is, once Suzette found out about it, she turned her father in. The Israeli Secret Service came and took him away. Before they could properly question Lillian Bloodworth about her part in hiding him, she took her own life."

        For a moment, Sam felt sorry for Rowan and Cheyenne, losing their mother in that way. His face was sad, thoughtful. "Poor kids."

        "Yeah. I think Lillian's grandfather just had her completely snowed. Book says Lillian was prone to depression. Probably made her vulnerable. Anyway, with their mother out of the way, Bill Bloodworth was open to get things going on the experiments. Suzette had no say in the matter. Grandparents don't have any rights."

        "No, I guess they don't. How old were the kids when the experiments started?"

        "Uh, somewhere in their teens?" Jessica continued to speak while flipping through the book. "I think Cheyenne was twelve."

        Sam wondered aloud, "How do you bring out someone's psychic powers, anyway? I mean, what did they do?" He couldn't remember his father ever dealing with a case like that, where methods were employed to bring out someone's psychic abilities, so Sam had no point of reference. He could have made some guesses, but...

        Looking at him over the open book, she explained, "They built these special chambers and forced the kids to stay in them for hours, several days a week. Sensory deprivation chambers. And also, something called a..." Jessica turned the pages and skimmed until she found it. "...a psy-cho-man-tium chamber. Wow, say that three times fast."

        "My... God." Sam only had a limited understanding of sensory deprivation chambers, and had never encountered a real psychomantium, although he'd heard the word in passing during one of his father's research talks with Caleb. "Their father _supported_ this?"

        "Sam, he _funded_ it."

        "Jesus."

        Jessica, pointing to a photograph in the book, continued, "I don't think they were traditional sensory deprivation chambers. Those are usually like, a tube that you lie inside of, floating in water. The pictures in the book show a little room, completely enclosed, with just the floor to sit on." She showed him the photos. The chamber was the size of a public bathroom stall. "From the outside, you could see in, but when you were inside with the door closed, you couldn't see anything but blank, black walls. In the prolonged absence of any visual or auditory stimulation, you're supposed to be able to release your own psychic abilities."

        Pausing, Sam finally had to ask, "Did anything ever happen?"

        She smirked at him. "Do you think they would have written a book about it if nothing ever happened?"

        "What could they do?" Then Sam added, "Allegedly."

        "Cheyenne didn't manifest any powers for a long time. But Rowan had almost instant results. He proved to be a really excellent channeler. Know what that is?"

        Sam played it a little dumb. "Isn't that a person who's really open to being possessed by the spirits of the dead, and they speak through him or something? I think I saw that in a movie once."

        "Very good. You know, with my awesome research skills and your above average intelligence..." Jessica leaned across the table and ruffled his hair. "...you just may learn something about the supernatural yet."

        Snickering with his mouth closed, Sam just looked at her with a grin. "I've read a book or two."

        "It shows."

        "So who was Rowan Bloodworth channeling?" He took a sip of his coffee, which he'd almost forgotten was there.

        Very matter-of-factly, she replied, "His Nazi great-grandfather."

        Sam, not foreseeing that, sputtered and choked on his coffee. Jessica giggled at him; that was pretty much the reaction she'd been expecting. He put a napkin to his nose. "Wow, that's hot coming back out," Sam muttered, making Jessica laugh harder. Once he'd caught his breath, he commented, "I should have seen that one coming."

        "No argument here." Giving him a wink, Jessica pointed to a passage in the book. "The boy would take on the persona of Rudolf Metternich, pacing the chamber and ranting mostly in German about any subject that came into his beady little head. Usually he'd talk about why the Third Reich fell and how his kids were impure, and how he would have been able to 'finish them both off' if only Hitler hadn't stopped him."

        "Holy crap. It does _not_ say that."

        "It does." She held the book out, pointing to a page.

        "Was he saying that he _murdered_ Sophie?"

        Consulting the book again, Jessica replied, "It sounds like it, doesn't it? But when they asked Metternich that question, he'd refuse to give them a direct answer."

        "That's just... wow."

        She nodded. "Besides that, Metternich would sing songs in English and German. But as you can guess, Rowan didn't speak German. Metternich's favorite singer was Teresa Brewer, especially her signature song, 'Music, Music, Music!' He'd do that one in both languages. I guess it entertained him when he was bored."

        "Ah, that's why you were warbling that tune when you came in," Sam concluded with a laugh.

        Jessica laughed a little too. "It's one of those evil songs that is so infectious that it just gets stuck right in your head. Like, in a horror movie, when they want to indicate that the old-timey ghost is coming, they play some old song that used to be charming but now it's just creepy? This would be one of those songs."

        Laughing again, he asked, "Did the Nazi have anything else to say?"

        "Uhh..." She looked in the book again. "Says here that after a while, Dr. Metternich began to demand that they bring him books, books of all kinds. They tried to get him to describe what kind of books, but he'd just get angry and yell, 'The books, the books, bring me my books!' When he'd rant like this, the scientists noticed that he usually sounded drunk, so they concluded the spirit might be reliving something related to his life."

        "How'd they shut him up?"

        "They got him some books. When the books were given to him, he promptly ripped them up, tearing out the binding. Then he'd go, 'No, this isn't it,' and move on to the next one," Jessica said, shrugging.

        "What was he looking for?" asked Sam.

        Jessica shrugged again. "Wouldn't say."

        "Did Rowan channel anyone else? Any other long lost relatives looking to destroy fine works of literature?"

        She shook her head, chuckling.

        "What about Cheyenne? What could she do?" Sam's voice took on a more cautious tone. He thought he knew the answer, but couldn't let on that he knew.

        "She appeared to be able to project, like, images that she pictured in her head onto photographic plates. But she had a lot of trouble with it. Gave her headaches and stuff. They did have some results, though; there are reproductions of some of the plates in the book. The girl must've done a lot of sitting in that chamber, trying to make things appear. Kinda makes you feel sorry for her."

        Remembering his conversation with Alexandra the night before, and the implication that they had hurt that girl Jasmine, Sam found he still had a problem feeling much sympathy for them. "I guess."

        "The scientists tried bringing out any other abilities the kids might have by sticking them in this psychomantium thing. Something to do with mirrors. You're supposed to be able to contact all kinds of freaky things in one of those." Eyes wide with the bizarre nature of it all, Jessica elaborated, "Ghosts, spirits, angels, demons, the works."

        "Wow, I've never heard of one of those things," Sam lied. "Sounds scary."

        "Apparently, it was - the kids didn't last very long before they had to stop using it. The experience was just too terrifying; they couldn't handle it."

        "What did they see?"

        "Again, book doesn't say. Disappointing, huh?" Jessica gave another shrug. "They went back to the sensory deprivation chambers after that."

        "How long did this go on for?"

        "How long does something like this ever go on for?" Her tone half-joking and partially dead serious, she finished, "Until someone gets hurt."

        For his own part, Sam was only slightly surprised. "There was a death, wasn't there?"

        "Yes," Jessica said with a nod. "One of the scientists. They think it was a stroke, but if it was, it's the weirdest stroke I've ever seen." Leaning forward as if they were about to exchange a secret, she almost whispered, "There's a picture in the book."

        "Well let's see it!"

        Jessica smirked. "Are you sure?"

        "Come on..."

        Flipping through the pages, she found the picture and turned the book around to Sam. "What do you think of _that?_ "

        John Winchester had shielded his sons from seeing as many terrifying sights as possible, unaware that the worst sight they could have ever seen was his empty bed, night after night. As a result, Sam remembered almost every horrifying monster that they _did_ manage to see as children. When he viewed the photograph of the dead scientist, Sam decided that it had to be one of the most disgusting, frightening things he had ever seen.

        The man lay on a concrete floor, arms at an angle by his sides. His skin was a bluish gray, as if he'd been found in the water several days after he had died. Blood stained the front of his lab coat. It had apparently come from his nose. But the worst part was his face. Eyes rolled up to the whites, and mouth frozen open in a scream.

        The caption under the photo said it had been taken within two hours of the time that he died.

        "What were the circumstances of his death?" Sam asked, scanning the page for the answer even as he proposed the question.

        Jessica had already gleaned that information from the book. "The other scientists went out to lunch, but this guy stayed behind. He was alone with Rowan and Cheyenne for almost two hours. They found him like that when they came back. Rowan was channeling Metternich at the time and he just kept laughing and laughing, like he'd had something to do with it. But how could he?"

        "What about..." Sam spied the paragraph he wanted. "'Cheyenne was in her deprivation chamber, curled into a ball when they returned.' Huh, must've scared her."

        Jessica furrowed her brow at the sarcastic tone of his voice. "What do you think happened?"

        "I don't know." Looking at her over the book, he tried to smile, taking himself out of what his family would call 'deep research mode.' "I guess they stopped the experiments after that."

        "Yeah. Rowan Bloodworth went into his room and promptly became mute. Refused to speak for two years."

        "God."

        "Bill began writing books and took his daughter on a tour of the country. Suzette Christaller moved in to take care of Rowan while they were gone. They had tutors and stuff; the kids didn't attend real school very much throughout this time. And that was that." Jessica tapped the book's spine. "You can keep that. Just turn it back in to the library in two weeks." She grinned. "Well, do I win the Research Assistant's Award of the Year or what?"

        A lead weight sunk to the bottom of Sam's stomach. After what Alexandra had said last night... "Um, you're great, Jessica. But maybe we should cool it for a while. There doesn't seem to be much else to unearth here."

        "Awww, but it's all so interesting. And I was, um, kind of enjoying the time we've been spending together." Under the table, she poked his ankle with her foot. "Haven't you?"

        "Oh, very much," Sam breathed. She grinned again. "We don't have to do research all the time, though. There are tons of things we can do together." Taking her hand across the table, he asked, "Want to get a late lunch?"

        His warm hand in hers, Jessica didn't even care who saw them out together. Not even Craig. "I'd love to."

        As they got up from the table, Sam laughed and said, "For someone who only skimmed the book, you sure knew a lot about what was in it."

        "Okay, maybe I read _most_ of it." Jessica linked her arm with his. "But I'm a fast reader."

        Sam peeked at the cover of the book again to see who wrote it. Maybe he'd recognize the name. But no, he didn't.

         _The Bloodworth Case, by Dr. Marcus Scott._

  
 **More Notes:** You diehard "Ring" fans out there will recognize the name Dr. Scott. He's the doctor who experimented with Samara at the psychiatric hospital back in 1978. I don't believe they ever gave him a first name anywhere, so I made up one for him.  
There's a letter in the "Don't Watch This" featurette that we barely get a glimpse of because there are pictures of Samara on top of it. It's hard to tell, but it seems like it details the death of Dr. Scott. I could be wrong, though. Since the letter was never fully shown or confirmed, let's just say Dr. Scott lived on.  
Sadako's Japanese: "We have our reasons."  
The title and the verse Jessica sings come from Teresa Brewer's song "Music, Music, Music!", (c) 1949. I swear, I have nothing against the music of Teresa Brewer; in fact, I love some of her work. I'm just having a little fun with it in this chapter. ^_^  
I'm obsessed with the idea of psychomantium chambers. Not sure you could ever get me _in_ one, as I'd probably run screaming the other way, but I _love_ writing about _other_ people using them. ;D  
I also enjoy Sam doing spit-takes where liquid goes up his nose a little too much. XD

  
it won't stop

 **The _Ringu_ series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki. My fanfic is more based on ideas presented in the films, which were created by director Hideo Nakata and screenwriter Hiroshi Takahashi.  
The motion picture _The Ring_ is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture _The Ring Two_ is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures. This fanfic is heavily inspired by ideas presented in the American movies, which were directed by Gore Verbinski and Hideo Nakata and written by Ehren Kruger.  
I do not know if the prequel, _The Ring 3_ , will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.  
 _Supernatural_ is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.  
 _Little House on the Prairie (TV Series)_ is (c) 1974 NBC Enterprises and Lionsgate Home Entertainment.  
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.**


	29. Day 29: The Secrets We Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some sexy airport shenanigans with her British boyfriend, Danica Kirkland comes home from England and is confused to find that her brother has barely slept for four days.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 29: The Secrets We Keep  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 29 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in March 2009.  
 **Word Count:** 3,890  
 **Summary:** After some sexy airport shenanigans with her British boyfriend, Danica Kirkland comes home from England and is confused to find that her brother has barely slept for four days.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. This chapter also contains a sex scene that borders on Adult rated territory.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #29 Guilt and Coclaim100 Prompt #29 Thunder.  
 **Author's Notes:** I think most people can figure out the British slang on their own, but one word may confuse the non-British: that's "Phwoar!" Phwoar (also spelled Fwoar) is a slang exclamation one would utter when they see something that turns them on sexually.  
A sparkler bomb is created when one tapes a huge bunch of sparklers together and then lights them all at once. Do not try this at home. ;)  
Danicalifragilisticexpialidocious = Of course, a play on the song "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" from the movie _Mary Poppins_.  
For a while now, I've wanted to make some changes to Svetlana's speech. In a past chapter, she was talking about how she knew three languages, and something about it made me realize that she should be speaking in broken English. So, I went back and edited all of Svet's dialogue from past chapters. The speech quirk will also be reflected in this and future chapters. For those of you who have been reading for a while, I hope it won't be too jarring. I've been told it actually adds to Svet's personality. For the most part, she just drops the occasional word and screws some up; nothing too incredibly different. This is how she sounds in my head. Now you all can hear her too. ;)

  
"Was that thunder I heard just now?"

The blond Brit grinned to himself. His girl was afraid something would keep her from going home for her visit with her family. Danica had been worrying about that for days now. Maybe even weeks. "Oh, you don't really think God would do that?"

She looked up from the overpriced airport goods she'd been idly gazing over and put her hand in his. "Do what?"

Colin Owens met her eyes. "Dare send down rain to keep your flight from taking off."

Danica lightly swung their joined hands, bouncing on her heels with nervous energy. "You're right. He wouldn't dare do that."

Chuckling, Colin gave her a kiss on the temple. "Get a girl like Danica Kirkland teed off? Even I know not to do that. And I'm far from omniscient."

"Damn straight."

"What, that I'm not all knowing?"

Danica laughed and kissed his mouth. "That it's not a good idea to piss me off. Especially when I'm about to see my family for the first time in three months."

"Oh, no. Keeping you from going home after you've been looking forward to it and talking about it and planning for it..."

Shaking her head, she laughed again. "Yeah, yeah."

Colin kept on talking. "...for the last three months... well, that would make you spit tacks." He took Danica in his arms, holding her loosely about the waist. The other travelers passed them on their way to their own destinations, but the two young lovers didn't notice anyone but each other. Colin did, however, see how close they were coming to the checkpoint in their slow meandering to the gate, where they'd have to part. "If these security people think terrorists are a fright..."

"Oh, really?" Danica put her arms around his neck and snickered into a long, involved kiss. "You make it sound like I've been planning for this trip since Christmas."

"Well, haven't you?"

"Christmas was the last time I went home," she replied with mirth.

"What's your point, love?"

They both laughed into another kiss. "Technically, it's only been two and a half months," she protested.

"Get technical, then." They pressed their lips together once again.

He looked over her shoulder. "We've reached your checkpoint. I can't follow you beyond here."

Danica let out a small groan. "I can't wait to see everyone again, but... I wish you could come with me." Pouting slightly, she kept her arm around Colin's shoulders, alternating her gaze between him and the looming checkpoint. "I want you to meet my family."

"Oh, sure, darling, I'll just pop off and buy a ticket to America. How much can they be?" he said with a thin, sarcastic smile.

Rolling her eyes, Danica sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, looking up at him. "How 'bout you get in my carry-on bag? I'll tell you when it's safe to breathe."

He chuckled. "Sounds like loads of fun."

Danica moaned under her breath. "I wanna go, but I don't wanna gooooo..."

Bringing her hand to his mouth, Colin kissed her fingers near a sizable diamond ring she was wearing. "You know I'll be right there with you. You can call me any time."

"I just wish..." She admired the ring. "...that you could be sitting next to me when I tell them."

"So wait, and don't tell them yet."

"No... no, I already kept it a secret over my entire last visit. I can't put it off any longer."

"I know, you were just bursting with the tasty little tidbit." They embraced each other again. "How much time do we have?"

"I should make my way to the gate in about half an hour."

"Hmmmm... what should we do with our time, then?"

Danica, smirking, leaned in close. "How about one for the road?"

"At the airport?" Colin asked, grinning mischievously. "Join the Mile High Club? No, that's not right... would it be the Foot High Club, then?"

Danica smiled at his joke. "We can do it in the bathroom. The stall doors lock," she whispered.

"Right here, in the loo?" he questioned teasingly.

"Oh, you don't want one to go on?"

"Of course I do. Don't be silly." Now he leaned in closer. "That noise you heard? It wasn't thunder. It was my sex drive revving up at the thought of you." When he growled the word 'revving,' Colin gave her bottom a discreet, quick squeeze. Danica squealed and jumped in his arms.

"You sex maniac," she laughed, and smacked his chest. "Come on, let's hurry."

Danica scurried into the women's bathroom to check things out before coming to get him, taking Colin by the hand and saying, "I think it's empty." Her skin tingled with anticipation.

They eyed each other hungrily as they snuck toward a back stall. Danica tore her gaze away from him long enough to bend over and check to see if there were any feet visible under the doors of the nearby stalls. Colin gave her bottom a good, healthy smack.

She squealed saucily and straightened up. "You are intruding upon my person, Mr. Owens."

"Is that a problem, Miss Kirkland?"

Danica pushed open the door of the handicapped stall (because it was the biggest) and practically threw in her carry-on suitcase; it teetered along on its wheels and rebounded off the wall. "What do you think?"

Colin removed his blazer, tossing it over the wall of the modest cubicle. "Considering _you_ propositioned _me_ , I would think not."

"That's what I like about you; you're so bright." Grinning at him, Danica lifted her long, paisley-patterned skirt to give him a great view of her baby blue panties, and waggled it back and forth like a can-can dancer. Because the door had swung nearly closed on its own, she kicked it open with a backward sweep of her leg and backed into the stall, with Colin following eagerly right after.

"Phwoar!" he growled at her.

As soon as the lock slid home, he turned and pulled her to him. They kissed passionately, open-mouthed, her up-ended skirt crumpled between them. At first, his hands squeezed her bottom, but soon moved to cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing aggressively over rising flesh through the fabric. Danica moaned quietly. Colin kissed her neck until she was panting, dark hair falling out of its clip and slinking over his face, the clip hanging by a clump of hair he'd uprooted when he ran his fingers through it. He squeezed his hand between her legs and snaked his fingers along the baby blue fabric.

Danica mewled for him. "Uhh... Colin!"

He pressed his fingers in hard and stroked. "You get these good and wet for me, 'kay love?" His finger made quick circles. She huffed out a moan. "I want your scent all over them. They're staying with me."

"Uh... ah... okay, baby..."

Giving her another half minute of attention, Colin then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugged down on it. Danica, eyes half-closed, brought her legs closer together for a moment so he could slide her panties to her ankles. She stepped out of them and they kissed again, Danica placing one leg up on the toilet seat. He stepped in close.

"I love you, Colin," she said as they both scrambled for his pants zipper. Danica wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands going back to her bottom to help her up.

"Love you too, pet," he replied breathlessly, and pressed into her.

The women who came into the bathroom for the next few minutes usually left giggling or with mouths agape at the noises they heard coming from the last stall. Already wound up, it didn't take long for the two lovers to finish, rumpled clothes clutched in each other's grip.

Colin panted with his head down, sweat running from his hairline. Grinning, Danica said, "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He chuckled, and looked up into her green eyes. "You wear me out, love."

Her brow creased at just how hard he was panting. "No, really, Col, are you alright?" She felt his forehead for fever. "You getting sick again?"

"No no, I'm fine." He tapped the outside of her thighs with his open palms. "Come on then, down now."

A woman in a wheelchair waited just outside the door with a cross expression upon her face. After leaning over as far as she could to see under the stall's door, she rapped on it with her fist. "Time to come out. That stall isn't for you; I can see you standing there."

Danica and Colin both had to laugh. "Sorry!" He retrieved and put on his tan blazer, and then, before she could, bent over and scooped up her panties, stuffing them in his pocket with a smirk. "Something to remember you by."

"Oh? What do I get?" Danica asked, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and hooking her other arm into his.

"My undying love."

As they exited the stall, still panting a bit, Danica tried to fix her hair with one hand. The lady in the wheelchair frowned at them. "Pervy," she said as they passed.

Colin, smiling at her like he was plotting something, spouted off, "You know these Yanks, ma'am. They come here and act like they own the place. Before her, I was a churchgoing, upstanding citizen. Now I'm grabbing a knee trembler wherever I can get it."

Danica giggled with a hand to her mouth. "You do remember who colonized who, right?"

"If memory serves me, I just colonized your scanties."

Looking after the impetuous youths, the woman shook her head.

They stared again at the checkpoint with a sigh. "I should get going..."

"Yeah."

Rolling her eyes, Danica groaned, "With the time difference, I figure I'll get there before I left."

"Give or take."

"The jetlag is totally going to suck."

Colin agreed with a nod. "I'll send you a video over the phone of the next sparkler bomb Nigel and I set off. That should wake you up right quick."

She snickered, fully aware of the puerile activities that took place whenever he and his cousin got together. "Bomb go boom; it pretty."

"Sparkler sparkly." They laughed into another kiss.

After a minute of hugging and kissing, they finally parted. He held her hand, twisting the engagement ring he'd given her just a little back and forth across her finger, until she'd walked too far for him to hold it anymore. Danica's eyes welled up with tears when their fingers no longer touched.

"It's only a week, love."

"I'll miss you."

"Miss you too."

Danica struck a provocative pose, a hand behind her head and a leg cocked outward, lips parted just slightly. "Take good care of my underwear."

Colin grinned. "Phwoar."

After she'd disappeared through the checkpoint with one final wave, he winced, cracked his knuckles, and winced again when it didn't help.

*****

Disorienting. That's what it was. Beckett couldn't remember going to sleep, and here he was waking up in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before.

Disorienting.

He sat up in bed and looked around, discovering that he was still wearing his shoes, even. They were caked with mud. Beckett had been sleeping on top of the covers, a couple of his school books open at the end of the bed, with the window wide open. And he had little memory of what had happened. It was all very bewildering.

Trying to make sense of it, Beckett recalled, _I was doing my homework, and I must've fallen asleep. But didn't I wake up and try to make a phone call?_

 _Sometimes, we are not alone in here._

Faulken. _What do you mean?_

Cryptic as always, his spirit guide simply replied, _Sometimes, we are not ourselves._

 _Please explain._ Beckett waited. _Faulken?_

There came one last reply. _The videotape._ Then the guide was silent.

The videotape. Beckett knew something strange had happened when he touched that cursed tape. What exactly, he wasn't sure.

The longer he sat thinking about it, the more certain Beckett became that he had made a phone call. He searched for his phone, found it in one of his pockets, and checked to see whom he had last called.

Jasmine. Beckett had wanted to talk to her last night, but when he remembered, it was too late to call. Isn't that how it went?

Why couldn't he remember this phone call?

Beckett started to dial her number until he saw the time. 5:47AM. Too early for it.

 _Faulken, what the hell happened last night?_

He gazed at his muddy shoes again, and the open window. Beckett's heart began to beat fast in his chest at the thought of what he might have done.

 _I can become people like you._

 _Charlotte calls it possession._

*****

Quinn's lower jaw bobbed up and down, his mouth making a smacking sound, as Jodie shook him as hard as she could. "Quinn, would you get out of bed already? Your parents are almost here to pick us up!"

"Uhhh ngh."

"Quinn!"

He batted at her hands. "Ung nuuuh."

"Come on, your sister's coming in on a plane in an hour. We've got to be there!" Jodie yanked on his covers, pulling him so far over that he teetered on falling out of bed.

"Alrigh Jo-eeey, mm up, lemme lone."

Lying next to him, Svetlana sat up and shoved on his hip with her foot until he did fall out of bed. Quinn went over with a whooping sound, eyes going wide. "You two already wake me up; not fair you get five extra minutes."

Jodie had to laugh at Svetlana, sitting there with her hair sticking in five directions, half of it in her exhausted, annoyed, sleepy-eyed face. "You tell 'im, Svet."

With no time now for a shower, Quinn and Svetlana made themselves as presentable as possible in record time, finishing just before Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland arrived. Steven Kirkland looked at them curiously with a furrowed brow. "Why are you two so tired? You look like you just rolled out of bed."

Quinn shrugged. "We pulled an all-nighter," he lied. "Got lots of tests and projects due before Spring Break."

"Quinn, you knew your sister was coming in today," his mother scolded.

"I have a project to finish," he replied, and shrugged again.

"Well..." Steven jerked his thumb at the door behind him. "...you can sleep in the car. Let's roll."

The ride to the airport proved awkward for Jodie, who sat to the left of the sleeping couple in one of the mini-van's back seats. With Quinn and Svet leaning on each other, dead to the world but breathing softly beside her nonetheless, it was almost like being alone with Quinn's parents. Dahlia Kirkland checked her son's reflection in the rearview mirror every few minutes with a concerned expression.

"They were up all night, huh?" she asked Jodie in passing, although Jodie knew just from the inflection in her voice that she was worried. Just the other day, Quinn's had gone by his parents' house and been an exhausted wreck, and here he was again, an exhausted wreck. Of course the woman found it troubling.

"Yeah," was Jodie's only reply. She didn't know what else to say, the truth being so unbelievable.

"They've been doing that a lot lately."

"Well, you know how college is."

Steven cut in with, "I think we can remember back that far," and they all chuckled.

Quinn's mom didn't lose that creased, worried browline, though, and it made Jodie feel guilty that she didn't have anything to say that would quiet the nice woman's fears.

Once they all became quiet again, Jodie sighed to herself in relief; the more questions Mrs. Kirkland asked and the more she had to lie to her, the guiltier Jodie would feel. Without that anxiety breathing down her neck, she could take the time just to watch the world pass by the window and notice all the little things people rarely noticed unless it was quiet. Like how sweet and helpless Quinn looked while he was sleeping. With Svetlana's head on his shoulder and his head leaning on hers, they formed a sea of blond hair made more golden by the sunlight glinting off its waves. Jodie smiled to herself, and her heart felt warm at the thought that even if Quinn married another girl, she would still feel this love for him. Perhaps the thought should make her sad, but Jodie couldn't explain it. He'd been her first love. She surmised that maybe most girls felt that way about the first boy they'd ever truly loved, who had loved them back, who had taken their virginity and given them their first stuffed bear for Valentine's Day.

Then Jodie looked forward into the front seat, noticing that Mr. Kirkland had his hand on the center console, and Mrs. Kirkland had draped her hand over his; he was softy rubbing the backs of her fingers with his thumb. That image was the one that made her feel sad. It was wonderful for Quinn, that his parents were still in love after so many years together. But it just reminded Jodie of how different her own situation was with her parents. She loved her mom, but sometimes it could be painful to have a mother who jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend and a father who wasn't much of a presence in her life. Seeing two parents still in love after 25 years of marriage made Jodie wistful to know what it felt like, to have that stability.

As they pulled into the airport's main parking garage, Mr. Kirkland began to snicker to himself. He checked the rearview mirror, saw that there was no one coming in behind him, and said, "We're just about here. It's time to wake the sleeping beauties. Brace yourselves, girls." Then he simultaneously let out a comical scream and stepped on the brakes. "Ahhh, oh my God, we're gonna crash!"

Quinn and Svetlana were both tossed up against their seatbelts, their heads lolling forward. Svetlana came awake with wide eyes and a startled gasp, jumping in her seat, but Quinn's eyes went even wider, and he let out his own squeaky, comical scream of surprise. Jodie couldn't help but giggle. She actually laughed out loud when Quinn pedaled his hands at the air as he tried to get his bearings.

"Wha, who, what's happening?!" he babbled, looking all around.

Even Dahlia giggled behind her hand. "Steven..."

"What?" he replied with a smirky grin.

Quinn opened and closed his eyes several times, rubbing them. He finally realized that his father had played one of his jokes on them. "Daaaad..." he whined. "That's not funny."

Once Jodie had gotten started, she couldn't stop; Quinn caught her giggling and shot her a look so fatigued and frustrated that the laughter died in her throat. She instantly felt horrible.

By the time Quinn turned his head forward again, the expression was gone. He was getting good at hiding what he was going through from his parents. "And I was actually having a _good_ dream."

Quinn and Svetlana were grumpy and sullen-faced all the way in to the terminal. But once he saw Danica walk through the checkpoint in her long skirt and Guns n' Roses T-shirt, and that smile of pure joy spread across her face at the sight of her family, Quinn was hit with such a warm feeling of nostalgia and love that he held his homemade sign up under his chin and proudly waved it back and forth. The words on the sign may have been simple - just 'WELCOME HOME DANICA!' - but Quinn felt every word with such enthusiasm that he seemed absolutely giddy with the knowledge that his other half was finally home.

Jodie just about sighed with relief when she saw the happy smile on Quinn's face. The sun was starting to come out.

Everyone grinned and waved at the approaching girl. As Steven was the first person she came to, Danica dropped her carry-on beside her and threw her arms around his neck. "Daddy!"

He kissed the side of her head with a loud "Mwa!" sound. "Welcome home, Sweetness."

Next, her mother got the same big, homesick hug, something Danica didn't even realize she was feeling until she saw them all again. Turning to Jodie, she opened up her arms and squealed. "Jodester!"

Jodie imitated the position, arms wide. "Danister!" They both gave the other a kiss on each cheek as a joke, hamming it up for the sake of the others. "Just like the French do!" Jodie cried, and then they hugged for real, squeezing each other tight.

"I missed you," Danica said into Jodie's ear. They rocked back and forth a couple of times before releasing each other with ecstatic grins.

Because she'd only met Svetlana once that past Christmas, Danica didn't feel like she knew her very well, but she still gave her a polite, warm hug. "Welcome home, Danica," Svetlana said. With her accent, the name was pronounced much slower than everyone else said it, with each syllable over-accentuated; it came out almost as 'DA-nee-kah,' where the others said simply 'Danih-kah.' Danica couldn't help but giggle.

Just as she was turning to her brother, he dramatically threw his arms open and cried, "Danicalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

"Come 'ere you," she laughed, and yanked him into a long, clingy hug. "Oh, I missed you so much," Danica said, patting his back.

Dahlia and Steven watched them, her eyes getting misty. "Aww," she cooed at her twin children, and how hard it could be on them to live apart.

When Danica tried to let go, Quinn clung to her a bit too long. "Okay, we can hug some more," she conceded with a small laugh. A few more seconds of back patting and he finally let her out of the embrace. Quinn, embarrassed, looked anywhere but in her eyes, but she wasn't having it. Danica held his face in her hands and ran her thumbs over the bags under his eyes.

"Quit it, will ya?" he responded, trying to pass it off with a laugh.

"Quinn... you look exhausted. Haven't you been sleeping?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question; she knew he hadn't just from looking at him. "I'm the one who's supposed to be jetlagged here."

"Later," Quinn mumbled at her. He darted his eyes in their parents' direction twice, indicating that there was a story there, but he didn't want to talk about it in front of them. In that moment, Danica got that jittery feeling she'd had back at the airport in London, as if she'd just heard thunder rumbling outside, but this time, it felt more like the moment between spotting a lightning strike and waiting for the loud crash, not knowing just how bad it was going to be. Would it be a small, rolling growl, or a sudden crash that jarred your insides and made the windows shake in their frames? She could tell just from the look in her brother's eyes and the way his skin seemed to shake from the inside, like every moment he anticipated something bad would happen, that something intense was keeping him up at night.

"Quinny..." she started to say with concern, but then he spotted the diamond ring on her finger. His eyes widened a bit; he looked confused and elated at the same time. Danica quickly snapped her arms down, trying to hide the ring in the folds of her skirt.

They had a silent conversation with their eyes. _Is that an engagement ring?!_

 _Not yet. Later. I'll tell everyone later. You keep my secret and I'll keep yours. Okay?_

Clearing his throat, Quinn took Danica's arm. "That carry-on can't be your only bag. If I know my sister at all, there's a very large trunk full of clothes waiting for us at baggage claim..."

"Just a regular size suitcase."

"By the time this week is over, you'll be taking back two. Mark my words. Mom said something about shopping."

Dahlia nodded. "Lots and lots of shopping."

As they trooped in the direction of baggage claim, Jodie hung back a little, taking in the scene before her. She couldn't have been more glad to have Danica home. Dealing with Quinn and Svetlana's problem practically by herself had been harrowing. (Darcy hadn't been much help so far, at least not in Jodie's eyes.) Now there would be two brains on the job.

A sliver of light peered over the horizon.

  
it won't stop


	30. Day 30: The Shadow People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester, Quinn, and Svetlana are pulled into a dream of young Charlotte and Samara, and the moment when they decided to start using their powers for revenge.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 30: The Shadow People  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 30 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in March 2009.  
 **Word Count:** 3,960  
 **Summary:** Sam Winchester, Quinn, and Svetlana are pulled into a dream of young Charlotte and Samara, and the moment when they decided to start using their powers for revenge.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #30 Chains and Coclaim100 Prompt #30 Rain.  
 **Author's Notes:** In case you do not have these places in your state or country, Olive Garden is a chain of Italian restaurants, and Charlotte Russe is a chain of women's clothing stores.  
"Wake Me Up Before You Go" is a Wham song from the 1980's.  
X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        The Kirklands' ride from the airport proved to be far more lively with conversation than the ride in. Danica chattered about music school, her progress in learning how to play the guitar, and how much she loved singing duets with her boyfriend. "Colin's teaching me some new chords. He's much better at it than I am. But he's been playing a lot longer." She looked at her brother, sitting next to her, and then at Jodie, on her other side. Danica sighed dreamily. "Colin Phillip Owens, my fi - " Catching herself, she tried a save. "...my friend. My best friend."

        "Such a British name, Colin Phillip," Steven teased.

        Svetlana, sitting behind Quinn and Danica, leaned up on the seat and popped her head in between them. "Phillip?" She suddenly exclaimed, "Like the lamb!"

        Quinn and Jodie, knowing to what she was referring, winced, while Danica and her parents just looked confused. "Like the lamb?" Danica repeated, but in a bewildered tone.

        Svetlana, sheepish, tried to wave it off. "Nothing. I was thinking of TV show."

        Quinn couldn't help but let out a brief chortle. Even if Svet's little slip-up did concern the pet of the ghost tormenting them, it _was_ kind of funny.

        "We've all got to meet up for dinner tonight. Danica gets to choose the restaurant," Steven declared.

        "Olive Garden!" she practically squealed.

        "How did I know she'd pick that?" muttered Quinn, giving his sister a teasing look out of the corner of his eye. "Probably because she _always_ picks Olive Garden."

        Smacking his arm with the back of her hand, Danica retorted, "They have great food."

        "Oh, those breadsticks!" Jodie added.

        "Olive Garden it is. Quinn, do you want to just meet us over there later?" his father asked. "I thought I'd drop you all off at your place so you can finish your project."

        "Huh? Oh, yeah. Good idea."

        By that, Danica had a sneaking suspicion there was no project. She wondered what they were really up to.

        "Shall we say, six?"

        Danica, pouting, said, "Aw, but I wanted to spend some time at Quinn and Jodie's this afternoon."

        "You can go over there after dinner." Dahlia turned in her seat until she could see her daughter better. "The afternoon belongs to you, me, and Charlotte Russe."

        Bouncing in her seat, Danica squealed with delight. "Yay, shopping!"

        As soon as they arrived home, Quinn and Svetlana headed for the bedroom. "I want to be more awake than this so I can actually enjoy Danica being over here tonight," he said. "We're going to take a nap. Wake us up at 4:30, okay?"

        "You got it," Jodie replied. "I just hope _Danica's_ awake, what with the jetlag she's bound to have."

        After Svet got into bed, Quinn followed her, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Don't go to dinner without us."

        Svetlana added, "Wake me up before you go-go," before putting the blanket over her head.

        It was such a random music reference that Jodie couldn't help but laugh the entire way out of Quinn's room.

        She called her mother on Jolene's lunch hour and got the full story on all the new things she had experienced since the last time they talked. "If he isn't cursed by the tape, then what was this Sam guy doing in your dream?"

        "Boy do I have no flippin' idea," Jolene sighed.

        "Maybe he's like this Dean guy. Knows how to stop it and all? If you see him again, ask him how to end the curse."

        "Yeah. If I see him again, it means I'm having another one of those fucked up hallucinations. You'll excuse me if I won't look forward to it."

        "I'm just saying, _if_ you happen to see him. I didn't tell you to go _looking_ for him," Jodie laughed.

        Laughing a bit too, Jolene said, "I know what you meant, honey." She paused to take a gulp of coffee. "How are Quinn and Svet holding up?"

        "Uh, not so good. Lots of bad dreams, very little sleep." She stared at Quinn's closed door. "They'll be fine... if they can make it through the next two and a half days."

        "That all we got left?" Rolling her eyes, Jolene pretended to wipe sweat off her forehead and blurted out, "PHEW!" so loud that her assistant turned and looked at her funny.

        Hearing that, Jodie was struck by how easy she'd gotten off in all this, and wondered, not for the first time, why that was. Was it something she'd done differently?

        Beyond the door, Quinn and Svetlana slept restlessly. And they dreamed.

        They came upon a white ranchhouse with a barn, and horses eating grass in an attached, fenced pasture. A tree stood watch on one side of the house. From this tree hung a wooden swing, and in the swing was the sullen, pouting figure of Samara Morgan. She turned the swing a few inches one way, and back, the other way, and back, not so much swinging as sulking, digging the toe of her mary jane shoe into the soft, damp dirt. Looking up, Quinn saw the sturdy branch that held the swing, heard the sound of the rope that held it pulling and creaking against its bark, and noticed the grey cast of the sky.

        "It's all so real. Like we're actually here," he said quietly to Svetlana.

        She took hold of his hand. "What you think she want us to see this time?"

        Quinn sighed. "I'm sure we'll find out."

        Another little girl walked over and pulled up the little weather-worn bench near the tree. She sat down. "Hey Samara."

        The long black hair, the way she walked, the inflection of her voice... Svetlana's lips twitched in contemptful recognition.

        "Hi Charlotte," Samara said without looking up.

        "It's her," Svetlana remarked. "She younger here, but I still know it's her. Charlotte. So that's your name."

        With sympathetic eyes, Quinn squeezed his girlfriend's hand lightly. The things Charlotte had said to Svetlana in that one dream... they had been too harsh for Svet to brush off so easily.

        "You're sad, huh?"

        "Of course I'm sad. You're moving away. Your whole family and all your horses and stuff, you're all going to Texas." Samara looked up at her for a few seconds, obvious pain in her eyes. "We can't even play with your dollhouse or Phil or Buttercup or Lightning one more time before you go, because you're going _today_." The child held back tears; they could all hear it in her voice.

        Charlotte kicked at a rock stuck in the dirt. "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you either." Now both girls were trying not to cry.

        "Are we suppose to feel sorry for them?" Svetlana muttered to Quinn. The tone in which she said it showed that she had no intention of doing such.

        "We should run away. That would show them, for trying to sep'rate us," Samara said defiantly.

        "Samara, we don't have nowhere to go."

        "I could hide in your stuff and go to Texas with you. I could live in your treehouse and you could sneak me food."

        Charlotte bowed her head, shaking it in doubt.

        "Then we'll run 'way with Christina. She's older, she knows where we could go," declared Samara. "I bet she could get a job and buy us food."

        "She's not old enough to get a job. She's only twelve," Charlotte reminded her.

        Then Samara did start to cry. "You're not even trying to keep us together! You don't care if you do leave me." Head down, her curtains of black hair obscured the sides of her face as she sobbed.

        Charlotte put a hand on her knee. "I do, I _do_ care. I want to stay together. But we're just little kids. We can't stop this from happening. We're only seven and nine. Kids don't have any say in stuff like this." Now she bowed her head, hands clasped tightly in her lap, toe kicking ruthlessly at the stuck rock.

        The two girls were quiet for several seconds, the only sound being Samara's sobs. "Stupid parents don't care what we want," she cried.

        Charlotte looked up. There was a new gleam in her eye. "There are ways they can never break us apart."

        Sniffling, Samara said, "How?"

        "I know things they don't." Charlotte glanced around as if they'd be sharing conspiracies she didn't want the adults to hear, then moved her bench closer to Samara. "Have you seen the shadow people?"

        An involuntary shudder moved up Quinn's spine. He already didn't like the sound of that. Shadow people. How ominous.

        Looking confused, Samara repeated it. "Shadow people?"

        "You can't always see them head on. Most of the time, you have to look out the corner of your eye..." Charlotte demonstrated, pointing to her left eye and looking out of its corner. "...And there you'll see them. Just dark shadows. They look like people, but they got no faces. No clothes, nothing like that. They're like shadows without a person to follow."

        Recognition came to Samara's eyes. "Oh yeah, yeah! I think I've seen them."

        "They slink along walls, around corners..." Charlotte moved her hands like feet walking along a floor. "When you try to look at them, they disappear. At least for most people."

        Biting at her bottom lip, Svetlana suddenly glanced over her shoulder. "I thought... I see something," she tried to explain to Quinn.

        "You don't have to explain, Svet," he sighed. "She's spooking me too."

        Charlotte continued, "The shadow people got no one to follow, so they look for someone who will take 'em in. They're our friends, Samara. They're loyal to us."

        "Like a doggie?"

        "Kinda. They're smarter than a pet. They want to do things for us. They have for a really long time."

        It was obvious that she had gone over Samara's head. "What kinda things?"

        Rolling her eyes, Charlotte replied, "I'm getting ahead of myself. I have to tell you what the head shadow guy told me. Their leader, the guy who tells them what to do, he's the one in the flat hat. Have you seen him?"

        "I think so..."

        "You'll know him 'cause he's the only one who wears a hat. The others don't."

        "He tells _all_ the shadow people what to do?" Samara asked with wonder.

        "Well..." Charlotte, choosing her words, finally said, "I don't think this is all of them. They're all over the world." She dramatically spread out her hands, as if spanning the globe. "We got, like, a little group of them."

        "Like a club?"

        "Yeah, I guess that's a good word for them. The Sawyer and Morgan Club."

        Sawyer. Quinn made note of that last name; it might be important at some point.

        Her face bright with the idea of everything Charlotte was telling her, Samara piped up, "Can I be in the club?"

        "Samara, we're the whole _point_ of the club," Charlotte reminded her, rolling her eyes again.

        "Oh. So what did the man in the hat tell you?"

        Charlotte thought about it a moment and blurted, "A fedora! I think it's called a fedora!" She noticed Samara staring at her. "The hat."

        "Oh," she said again, and smiled.

        Realizing that Samara had stopped crying, Charlotte smiled along with her and continued her story. "Anyway, the hat man you can see straight on if he wants to tell you something. I was sleepin' in my bed and he woke me up, whispering in my ear." Her eyes opened wider. "I was scared at first, but he told me I had nothing to fear from 'im. He told me how come we can do things, stuff other people can't do."

        Samara, who had been kicking at the dirt, looked up sharply. "You mean like making things move by thinkin' about it?"

        Charlotte nodded. "Uh huh. And putting pictures in people's heads and stuff."

        "Why can we do those things, but other people can't?"

        Leaning forward, she said, "Because we're special." Charlotte checked again to make sure no one was coming. "Your mom told you we were both adopted, right?"

        Samara bobbled her head up and down. "I'm a big girl now. I'm old enough to know."

        "Do you know what that means?"

        She nodded again. "Somewhere, I got a second mom and dad. But they couldn't take care of me and they're never coming back."

        Charlotte's eyes gleamed. "The hat man told me that we're not really cousins. That's just our adopted family. Samara, we got the same father. Our real dad is _magic_. He's got _powers_."

        Instantly springing to her feet, Samara hugged her around the neck. "You're my sister! I knew it!"

        Charlotte hugged her back. "We both knew that, right? We always could feel it."

        "Then my suspicions were right. They're both the daughters of Heptamera."

        Quinn and Svetlana turned to see a very tall man with brown hair standing just a few feet away. "Who the hell are you?" Quinn asked.

        At first, Sam's eyes widened, but then he realized it only made sense that they could see him. "Of course you're not part of this scene; Charlotte wouldn't be checking to make sure no one was listening if you were really just standing there. You've been cursed, haven't you? By one of the videotapes?"

        "Yeah," Quinn uttered, amazed. "And I repeat, who the hell are you?"

        "I'm Sam. My involvement in this... is complicated." He put up a hand to shush them. "They brought us here for a reason. Let me listen."

        When he told them his name was Sam, in response, Svetlana looked bewildered. The name held significance to her for some reason, but she couldn't currently remember why. "What is it you try to figure out?" she asked.

        Sam almost said, "How to save you," but held his tongue. Were they aware that this curse could kill them? Was he right, in that all it would take to keep them from dying is for them to make a simple copy of the videotape they'd watched? Or was Alexandra telling the truth when she said Sam hadn't figured out everything?

         _To survive the curse of the seven paintings, you reproduce them, so doesn't it follow then that to survive the videotape curse, you copy it as well? Oh Dad, I wish I could run all this by you,_ Sam thought.

        He'd been quiet, lost in thought, for too long. "Sam?" Svetlana said.

        He shrugged. "I want to make sure my theories are right."

        Quinn started to ask what theories, but the little girls began to talk again, interrupting his train of thought.

        Sitting back down on her swing, Samara urged Charlotte to continue. "So we got our powers from our dad?"

        "Yeah. He's almost like God. Strong." To illustrate, Charlotte flexed her little arms like a bodybuilder. "If we practice, we can get really strong too. Grown-ups will never tell us what to do ever again."

        "Woooow..." Samara cooed.

        "The hat man told me a story about the first daughter our dad ever had. Her name was Sasha."

        The things Alexandra had said... _All he wanted was to have a family. But they took that away from him. Took it all away! My little girl! I am not Heptamera's only bride, but I was his first._ "Sasha Baptiste," Sam muttered to himself.

        "You mean we got other sisters?" Samara asked.

        "There are _a lot_ of 'em. And there will be _more_." A wrathful edge colored Charlotte's voice as she spoke about Sasha Baptiste. "One of the powers our dad gave Sasha was she could see the future. You can do that sometimes, can't you?"

        Samara nodded, her eyes wide and sparkling with amazement. All of her attention was on Charlotte and this story.

        "Well, 'cause Sasha could see what was gonna happen, she knew that some people in the village was gonna die. They were going to get real sick, you know? And she told them this. They just thought she was kiddin' or something, you know, 'cause she was just a little girl. Nobody listens to little girls on stuff like that."

        "Don't I know it," Samara remarked, rolling her eyes.

        "When the people did die, suddenly everybody was like hey, that Sasha girl said they were gonna die. You'd think they'd be grateful, and ask her if anybody else was sick so maybe they could take some medicine or something and stop it, but that's not what happened at all," Charlotte spat. Her voice became more disgusted and indignant with each passing second. "They thought she had _caused_ those deaths. That she had _cursed_ those people."

        "Oh wow," Sam said to himself. If the events had really happened that way, then no wonder Alexandra and these other girls were so angry with the world. Perhaps the curse had begun over a simple, tragic misunderstanding.

        Samara said nothing, just listened with a stunned look upon her face. How easily something like that could happen to her...

        "After that, the people were terrified of Sasha. They thought she could kill someone by just saying it would happen. And do you know what they did to that little girl?"

        Now Samara's eyes were full of fright, and she shook her head.

        Charlotte leaned forward. "They took her away from her mother, and they trooped on down to the caves with her, and they held her down and cut out her tongue." The intensity in her eyes made Charlotte look older than her mere nine years. "So she could never speak another curse."

        Covering her mouth with both hands, Samara didn't say anything. She was afraid to.

        "Then, those people left Sasha to die in that cave. They found a hole that formed a natural well and threw her in it. She was trapped down there, up to her waist in water, for seven days before she died. Couldn't call for help. Couldn't even _scream_."

        "Charlotte, quit it. You're scaring me."

        "You should be scared. Because it could happen to _us_."

        Jumping up from the swing, Samara argued, "My mommy would never let anyone do those things to me!" and defiantly waved her finger in Charlotte's face.

        "Don't be so sure, Samara. Don't be so sure."

        "So what are we supposed to do?" She took her seat on the swing once again.

        Charlotte, grinning impishly, let out a little giggle. "We _practice_."

        "With our powers?"

        "Yeeees." The way the girl drew out the word, Sam wondered if her gleeful wickedness was all a bunch of childish bravado, or if Heptamera started 'em early in the family business of soul reaping. "They thought Sasha was cursing people, and they killed an innocent kid because of it. As revenge, her mother made sure they would all be punished. There wasn't a curse before, but after Sasha died, her mom and dad cursed them all. They worked together to make it happen. The curse goes on even today.

        "If we practice using our powers, we can curse anyone who would ever try to hurt us. Maybe we'll even get so good that the world will never forget who we were after we're gone."

        "Maybe one day you'll even be able to curse innocent people who did _nothing_ to hurt you!" Quinn yelled angrily; he didn't care if the children could hear him or not. "When did that become one of your goals, huh?"

        Sam looked at Quinn and Svetlana with sympathy. It was written all over their faces that Samara had already put them through hell.

        The girls didn't seem to hear him. "The shadow people thought we could start with films. Making our own little films."

        "With our minds?" Samara asked.

        "Um hm. Maybe the Beta videotapes your dad bought for his video recorder."

        "But those are expensive!"

        "We could make tapes for each other, though. Just to start off. For practice." Charlotte grinned again. "We can build up to curses. The curses will be for them." She tipped her head toward the house. "For separating us."

        Nodding, Samara agreed, "Yeah. For Daddy." She slumped and pouted at the ground. "Daddy loves the horses."

        They both looked up at the window on the side of the house. Sam made note of the distinctive look of the black shutters, striped diagonally with white lines at the top and bottom, in case he needed to give a description to... well, any hunter who might go looking for this house. Richard Morgan stood in this window, gazing down at the girls for some reason. Watching them. When he realized they had noticed him, he turned his head to the right, trying to appear casual.

        "We'll make him sorry. The shadow people are loyal to us and all our sisters, so they'll help us every step of the way." Charlotte leaned forward to whisper to Samara, "They told me that when we get really good at cursing people, they'll help us by watching them, and let us know what they're doing. That's in case we have to curse more than one person at a time. We can't watch everybody at once."

        Samara laughed. "No, that'd be hard."

        Quinn and Svetlana looked at each other, and she squeezed his hand. "You hear that?"

        "Yeah."

        "Shadow people, watching us..."

        "If I had trouble sleeping before..." Quinn shuddered all over.

        "Samara, we talked about reading people's minds before, didn't we?"

        Samara nodded, as if this wasn't a strange topic of conversation.

        "Have you noticed that you can't do it when people are asleep?"

        She nodded again.

        "If you feel like someone's thinking about hurting you, like your dad, your _adopted_ dad, keep them awake, so you can read their mind all the time. The shadow people will help you." Grinning, Charlotte gave a nod of her own. "They like to watch what we do. They think it's cool."

        Sam wondered how long they'd been practicing at these various powers. Years? It wasn't a pleasant thought, children with such abilities, wielding them like toys against the people around them.

        "I want you to remember something for me, Samara." Charlotte took her by the shoulders. "No matter what happens, I will always be there for you. Always looking after my little sister. No matter how many miles they put between us. Just call." She tapped her head, then gave Samara a big hug.

        In reaction, Samara appeared sad, eyes and mouth drooping. "You're talking like we're never going to see each other again."

        "I just want to make sure I get to say everything before my parents make us leave. It could be any time now."

        As if the sky could hear her, thunder rumbled across the grey clouds above them.

        The twelve-year-old Samara had mentioned, Christina, came out of the house and walked down toward the tree, hugging her sweater around her. Sam let out a gasp. The girl was younger here, with longer hair, but he recognized her instantly - the blonde riding a horse across a beach. The girl from the dream he had, the image that flashed across his TV screen. The girl from Alexandra Baptiste's painting, _One Regret_. It shouldn't have surprised him, not really, what with the paintings being all about the lives of Heptamera's daughters. Charlotte Sawyer's adoptive sister had been a big part of her life once.

        "Hey you guys, Mom wants you to come inside. It's going to rain," Christina said.

        Samara, rocking her swing back and forth, asked, "Christina, will you run away with us? We don't want to be sep'rated."

        "You could get a job," Charlotte added. Even after she had doubted this idea herself, she was feeling desperate enough now to back it up.

        Christina rolled her eyes and snickered. "No, I'm sorry, no one's running away. It won't be that bad, guys. You can write and visit each other. You're welcome anytime, Samara."

        "But it's not the same," Samara pouted.

        Christina just shrugged. "Let's make the best of our last night together, okay? Dad said because of the storm coming that we're going to stay overnight here after all. He doesn't want to drive in the rain."

        Charlotte and Samara jumped up and hugged each other. "Hooray!"

        "If you promise not to pout, I'll play a few games of Clue with you until dinner's ready. I'll even let you be Miss Scarlett and Mrs. Peacock." Christina put an arm around Charlotte's shoulder, then Samara's.

        Both girls hopped up and down excitedly.

        One of their mothers came around the side of the house just as the raindrops began to fall. "Hurry, girls. Rain's coming."

        Taking his chance, Sam turned to Quinn and Svetlana. "I think I've figured this whole thing out. You two aren't staying in this on purpose, are you?"

        "No, of course not."

        "We just want it all to end," Svetlana added.

        None of these people seemed to be hunters, then. "Alright, I've done some research on these girls, and all signs point to a very simple solution. You still have the videotape, don't you?"

        "Yeah..."

        "I want you to take it and - "

        Someone came from Sam's left side, moving around him quickly and slapping her hands together in front of Quinn and Svetlana's faces. The sound was so loud it was almost like a thunderclap.

        They came awake in Quinn's bed, startled out of the dream.

  
it won't stop


	31. Day 31: Peripheral Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Katherine Sawyer, sister of Anna Morgan, and becomes more deeply invested in saving the people cursed by Samara. Danica's secret is revealed to her parents, and she finds out there's something very mysterious and alarming going on with her brother Quinn.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 31: Peripheral Vision  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 31 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in March-April 2009.  
 **Word Count:** 4,784  
 **Summary:** Sam meets Katherine Sawyer, sister of Anna Morgan, and becomes more deeply invested in saving the people cursed by Samara. Danica's secret is revealed to her parents, and she finds out there's something very mysterious and alarming going on with her brother Quinn.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #31 Flame and Coclaim100 Prompt #31 Snow.  
 **Author's Notes:** This chapter is a cross-over with the TV show _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**  
Lighting hairspray on fire (and bushes) is dangerous. You could get blowed up. Don't try this at home.  
The reason why I gave Anna a twin named Katherine is for two reasons - one, because I wanted to create some cursed tape images for Charlotte and it was just easier if I could use images of Anna to represent Katherine, and two, because I thought it would be interesting to see how Richard Morgan and Katherine would interact with her looking just like Anna, especially after Anna's death.

  
        "You still have the videotape, don't you?"

        "Yeah..."

        "I want you to take it and - "

        Someone came from Sam's left side, moving around him quickly and slapping her hands together in front of Quinn and Svetlana's faces. The sound was so loud it was almost like a thunderclap.

        They came awake in Quinn's bed, startled out of the dream.

        Gasping, Sam blinked in surprise as the woman who had come out of the house to retrieve the girls whirled on him, shoving herself angrily into his personal space. He thought he recognized her as Anna Morgan, from some of Alexandra's paintings. The height he had over her apparently didn't phase her at all. "Just what do you think you're doing, Sam Winchester?"

        "I'm trying to save those people. I don't get why you'd want to help Samara and Charlotte take them. Of all people, I wouldn't think Anna Morgan would be on _their_ side."

        "I'm _not_ Anna Morgan!" she spat. The rain began to fall harder; Sam could feel it pitter-pattering on his arms and head, getting him wet. "You seem to think you know everything, but you're not yet aware that Anna had a twin sister, are you? I'm Katherine Sawyer. Charlotte was my adopted daughter."

        Sam had assumed she was Anna because the woman before him looked just like her, but in time, he would have noticed the differences. While Anna seemed to prefer long, old-fashioned dresses and traditional horseback riding attire, Katherine dressed as if she'd stepped off an episode of a popular 1980's soap opera like "Dallas" or "Dynasty." Knee-length pencil skirt, silk dress shirt, expensive leather pumps, and gold jewelry everywhere, including a chain made up of oversized links around her neck. Until he got a better handle on their personality differences, Sam would use their clothes to tell them apart.

        He practically had to yell to be heard over the rain now, it was coming down so hard. "I ask you again, _why_ did you do that? You scared those two people out of the dream before I could tell them how to save themselves. Why are you helping the daughters of Heptamera?"

        Katherine backed Sam up a few feet at a time by advancing on him, continuing to yell and rant in his face. "Why should they be saved? Why should the people who tried to show Charlotte love and give her a home when her crazy mother couldn't take care of her go on suffering for eternity while the rest of the world is saved? Why _us?_ "

        Not having an answer for that, Sam just put up his hands in a baffled shrug. "I - I don't know. As bad as this sounds, I think it's because she needed someone to practice her powers on and you were just there."

        "PreCISEly!" the woman screeched. "Why would anyone put such power in the hands of a child? I ask you, WHY!" Katherine slammed her fists into Sam's chest, knocking him back a step. "Charlotte and Samara were too young to understand what they were doing to us. You think the nightmares and the hallucinations you're experiencing are bad, you should try having it forced on you for years on end. I only slept when my daughter _let_ me."

        "Look, I'm sorry that the girls were so hard on you and your sister, but that's no reason to let innocent people die." By this time, Sam's hair was sticking to his forehead, and his shirt to his skin.

        Katherine didn't even seem to notice the rain, she was so focused on her hysterical rant. "Did you hear their tale of the shadow people? I saw them, you know. I'd just be sitting there reading a magazine or taking a bath and I'd see one out of the corner of my eye. Never saw them straight on, no. Can you imagine how terrifying it is to know something is in your home, watching you bathe and sleep and so many other vulnerable things, and there's nothing you can do to make it go away?"

        "Mrs. Sawyer - "

        She shoved him again. "You SHUT up! You don't know the worst of it yet, not by a long shot. Have they started randomly placing their idols around your home yet?"

        Giving her that bewildered look again, Sam questioned, "Idols?"

        "The _statues!_ The idols of them that Alexandra Baptiste created! Don't tell me you haven't gotten to that part of the book yet?"

        "I haven't finished the books, no."

        "Oh, well, then skip right to the chapter about her sculpture. You're going to _love_ it." Katherine shivered. "Dead eyes staring at you... they follow you, you know. They _move_. Charlotte made me hallucinate them in my home for a year after she disappeared. Looking at me accusingly, as if I was the one who killed her. They never found her body, but I knew she was dead from the way her idol glared at me. Oh, you're going to enjoy your own personal, _delusional_ sculpture garden whenever they decide to spring it on you. I haven't even told you about the _monolith_ yet!" Laughing wildly, she added, "You're already in over your head."

        "Stop trying to intimidate me, Mrs. Sawyer." Sam stood his ground.

        "You should give this up now. You _should_ be intimidated." Sam, rolling his eyes, started to say something, but she cut him off. "You and Mysteria stop playing your little games."

        "Mysteria? Who the hell is Mysteria?"

        "Oh, that's a good one," Katherine laughed. "You know something? You're a real hypocrite." She looked him up and down. "You're not that much different from our girls. Who's tainted _your_ blood?"

        Now, Sam really looked confused, eyebrows dipping deeply in the middle. "What are you _talking_ about?"

        For a second, she just looked at him, sizing him up, before barking out a laugh. "You really don't know. Well... that's interesting."

        "Tainted my blood?"

        "Never mind." Katherine seemed to be satisfied, as if she felt she'd gotten a leg up on him. "Do you really want to know why I'm not helping you save the people you've seen... and the ones you haven't?"

        Sam remembered the strings of numbers on the television in the Bloodworth vault. Countdowns. "Christ... there were at least fifteen of them."

        "Yes." She began walking toward him. Sam instinctively backed up for every step she took; she wouldn't cease her advance. "Young girls with monstrous powers need something to do to occupy their time, just like regular girls. But the way our girls entertain themselves... and soothe their hurt... is by torturing everyone around them. That means my husband, Anna, Richard, and myself. That means _us_."

        Looking to his right, Sam saw a thin tree bowing in the wind. He recognized that tree.

        "So you see, if we allow our girls to take these lives, they will have their little playthings."

        Sam had seen that tree in one of Alexandra's paintings. Anna Morgan, standing on a cliff, a skinny tree beside her, bowing in the wind. It was entitled _Breeder's Suicide_.

        He looked behind him. His heels were only inches from the muddy edge, the ocean surf crashing against the rocks below. If he darted to the left, Sam thought that he might be able to get around the woman without hurting her -

        "And when they have their playthings..." Katherine lunged at him, screaming in his face. " _THEY LEAVE **US** ALONE!_ "

        Pinwheeling his arms, Sam fell backward over the edge of the cliff.

        And landed in his beanbag chair.

        He was glad Gerald was out at class, because Sam hit the chair screaming. When he finally stopped flailing and realized he wasn't really falling off a cliff, he flopped limply in the chair with a sigh of relief.

        Shadows, statues, tainted blood... Sam had a lot to try and sort out after this dream. But first, a shower and a change of clothes.

        He was soaking wet with rain.

        Quinn and Svetlana sat up in bed, both feeling that for the first time, they had awakened from one of Samara's nightmares too soon. "What was he going to tell us?" she asked, thinking out loud. "Is Sam like Dean? He going to save us too?"

        "I don't know," Quinn replied with a shake of his head.

        She took hold of his wrist. "Oh God, Quinn...! His name is Sam! In dream I have in the forest, Dean mention a Sammy. They _know_ each other! And he know how to stop the curse!"

        "It seems that way." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Quinn put his head in his hands. That was all he needed, another good-looking guy to save his girlfriend instead of him. He knew it was a jealous way to react, but any guy would think that way, as far as he was concerned.

        "How we get in touch with him again?" Svetlana knew he didn't have an answer to any of her questions, but she couldn't stop asking them. "Mysteria?"

        "Maybe," he muttered from behind his hands. "God, I'm so tired."

        "Maybe we go back to sleep, we dream of him again. Or Dean."

        "Maybe," Quinn repeated. He uncovered his face. "Svet, I really wish I knew. At least we don't have too much longer to wait this out." Turning to her, Quinn suddenly jerked his head in the direction of the door, searching the room with his eyes.

        Svetlana noticed. "You see something."

        "I... I thought I saw... there was a shape... slinking along the wall."

        Her eyes widened in surprise, then fear. "You saw shadow person," she whispered.

        "It's - it's the power of suggestion." He looked around the room continuously as he spoke, trying to confirm or discount that he'd really seen the black humanoid shape in his peripheral vision. "Charlotte was talking about them in the dream, how the shadow people would be watching us, and now I start seeing them. _Now_. It's the power of suggestion."

        "Or maybe they really here."

        Quinn shook his head almost too hard. "People suffering from sleep deprivation hallucinate all kinds of things."

        "Was the rosary a hallucination? The bridle strap?" Sighing, Svetlana took his face in her hands. "Quinny, please... don't shut down on me now. You know all is real. We have two and a half days left." She kissed his lips, begging him not to retreat into denial. "Stay with me until all is over."

        "Svetlana... my sister is home," he almost whined. "I just want to have a fun visit with her. I don't want any of this curse shit to ruin our time together. She spends nine months of the year on the other side of the _world_..."

        "Well... do you really think you can keep from her? Look at us, Quinn. You think she not going to ask what the hell we've been up to?"

        His face in his hands again, Quinn sighed. "Okay. Okay, fine." He looked at the clock. "We've got a few hours until we have to get ready for dinner. Maybe in that time, we can figure some of this shit out."

        "How?"

        "How many sketch pads do you have over here?"

        At first, she just stared at him. Then Svetlana replied, "Sketch pads? I don't know, three? Four?"

        "Get them." Quinn slid off the bed and went to his desk, grabbing the can of pens and pencils.

        "What we going to do?"

        He turned back to her. "I don't know why, but I have this overwhelming urge to draw again."

*****

        Great new clothes; new earrings; a visit home; and a gorgeous diamond ring on her finger, given to her by the man she loved: There couldn't be anything wrong with the world when Danica had this incredible day and her even more incredible future to look forward to. She twisted the engagement ring on her finger with the side of the finger next to it, grinning and laughing at the stories she and her parents were telling while they waited for Quinn and the others to arrive. "I was hoping there'd be some snow for us to play in, but no such luck. Spring broke early this year."

        "Oh, I remember you and Quinn and snow," Dahlia said with a wink, and sipped at her glass of wine.

        Steven started to laugh in that way that people did when something someone else had said had triggered a fond memory. "There was many a time I was _very_ happy to have a camera handy when you and your brother got out in it."

        Danica laughed too. "We'd bundle up like Randy from _A Christmas Story_ and just get lost in those drifts until our toes and fingers felt like they were going to freeze off. I mean, just how many times can two kids sled down a hill?"

        "You found out. Every winter. I bet you even kept count," Dahlia chuckled.

        "You know, I think we kept a chart one time..."

        Her mother laughed harder. "I remember you two begging Janet to pull you up the hill with you both on the sled. She'd do it sometimes, but she'd complain the whole way about how heavy you two were."

        "And then when I got home from work, Janet would come in the room, her shoulders covered in snow, and announce that I was going to take over the job for her," Steven added with a grin.

        "Yeah, and after Quinn got Mukluk, we'd put him on the sled with us too. I'm surprised you weren't left a permanent hunchback after that, Dad."

        Dahlia giggled into her wine. "Remember the time Quinn almost burned the whole neighborhood down because he couldn't find Mukkie?"

        Danica, breaking a breadstick in two, instantly began to laugh. "Oh! 'Mom, I lost my dog. I can't find my dog,'" she said, imitating her brother.

        "Well, Mukkie was just a puppy then. It's easy to lose a dog that little, especially one that's half white, in the snowdrifts we get around here."

        "Especially when Mukluk loves to bury himself in the snow," laughed Steven. "Quinn was just convinced Mukkie would freeze to death if he didn't find him as soon as possible. Which one of you had the bright idea to make a blowtorch out of a lighter and a can of hairspray again?"

        Snorting with laughter, Danica raised a guilty hand. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

        "Yes, melt the snow quicker, find the missing puppy." Dahlia pantomimed her kids pushing the nozzle on the hairspray and lighting it on fire, then moving the can back and forth in a mad dash to get the snow melted before the can blew up in their faces. "Oh, this isn't going fast enough. Let's light the Nelson's _bush_ on _fire_ , that'll speed up the process."

        "Hey, _that_ was Quinn's idea." They all had a good chuckle over it.

        "My favorite part is once we'd all come outside to goggle at what you two knuckleheads had done, Mukkie sticks his head out of the snow on the complete opposite side of the street. 'Hey, what chou guys doin'?'" Steven pretended he was the dog poking his head out of the snow and looking around.

        "Oh, lord... where are they?" Danica checked her watch. "It's not fair that Quinn isn't here to defend himself."

        "Well, we've been waiting twenty-five minutes... I say we go ahead and order. They'll get here soon," assured Dahlia with a shrug.

        They were halfway through dinner when Dahlia finally saw the engagement ring for what it was.

        "I want to go call them and see what the hangup is, but this chicken fettucini is so _good_ ," Danica was saying as she reached for her drink.

        The light glimmering off the diamond in her ring, Dahlia narrowed her eyes at it. "Danica, is that a real diamond?"

        Danica stopped moving for a brief second. Then she casually took a sip of her Cherry Coke and cleared her throat. "Um, yes. Yes it is."

        For a moment, her parents just stared at her. "It's... quite big. Where did it... well, where did it come from?"

        Steven almost stepped on what his wife was saying when he cut in with, "It looks like an engagement ring."

        A beat of silence passed between them. "That's because it is," Danica finally said. Oh, she was going to kill Quinn for not being here for this. Not only because she wanted him there for the formal announcement, but for the moral support. "Colin has asked me to be his wife."

        Dahlia's mouth dropped open in shock; Steven was a little more subtle, but Danica could tell that his leg was fidgeting nervously under the table. "You're only twenty years old," he started.

        "Honey, there's a whole world out there left to see," Dahlia continued. "You're too young to be thinking about things like marriage."

        "He lives on the other side of the _world_ from you, Danica," her father said, barreling ahead with all the things she had known they were going to say. She'd heard that tone of voice before, the controlled anger that wanted to spill out at what he thought was a rash decision.

        As a potentially devastating thought occurred to her, Dahlia's face darkened with grief. "You're not going to _stay_ in England _permanently?!_ "

        Danica broke in with, "No, no. Colin and I have discussed this. He's graduating this year, and he's going to go to work. Once I finish college, he'll transfer over here and we'll live in America." She also had to put a tight reign on her anger. They didn't even know Colin and they were already freaking out over this marriage.

        "So, it's going to be just that easy."

        "Yes."

        Steven shook his head and scoffed, his body language saying that he thought she was being a dumb kid. "Honey, life is complicated. All you're doing is making it harder on yourself."

        Danica tried to stand her ground. "All I'm doing is planning my future with the man I love."

        "But, aren't his parents upset that he'll eventually be living here, so far away from home?" Dahlia asked. She wrung her napkin in her hands.

        "We've talked about that too. Colin's career field allows for a lot of travel. He can go back and see them several times a year."

        "What about your children, Danica?" Steven had stopped eating altogether and had crossed his arms, the ultimate sign that he wasn't happy with the situation at hand. "Colin's family is going to understand hardly ever seeing their grandchildren?"

        "We'll visit..." Looking at her mother, Danica realized she was near tears.

        "Honey, you just don't understand. Your sister lives in New York; you'd think that wouldn't be too far, but it's far enough away that we only see Kelsey a couple times a month. Do you know how hard that is, to only see your grandchild every few weeks? And you're talking about depriving these people of their grandchildren save for one or two trips a _year?_ "

        "Mom, don't _cry_..."

        "How do we know that they're not going to get upset and beg you to move to England with the kids? We may wind up being the ones who only see our grandchildren a couple times a year." Dahlia grabbed her daughter's hand. "Honey, please don't do that to me. I just couldn't take it."

        It took all of Danica's strength not to roll her eyes. "Mom, you're getting upset over something that won't happen. We don't even have a child yet."

        Steven's displeasure with the news their daughter had sprung on them caused him to jump to hasty conclusions. "Is that why you're getting married? Danica, are you pregnant?"

        It was her turn to stare in horror with her mouth open. "Dad! _No._ No, of course not." Danica, exasperated, slapped her hands down on the table with a loud bang. "God, this is why I waited so long to tell you. I knew you'd completely freak out."

        Her father narrowed his eyes at her. "When did he ask you to marry him?"

        Uh oh. She'd let that one slip. "Uh... November."

        Her mother gaped again. "Oh, _Danica_."

        "I'm sorry. But I didn't even tell Quinn, so it wasn't just you." _And I didn't tell Quinn because I knew he'd blab it by accident._ "You don't have to freak out about your future grandchildren, okay? Colin and I have already spoken to Mr. and Mrs. Owens, and - "

        "They've gotten to have dinners and holidays and who knows what else with you, and we haven't even _met_ Colin," Dahlia cut in, obviously hurt.

        Danica tried to continue. "We've already spoken with Colin's parents, and they said that they understand that a marriage of this type is a comprimise. They understand that we're eventually going to live in America, but... they did ask us one favor."

        Grinding his teeth, Steven asked, "And what's that?"

        "That, um, the wedding take place in England."

        Dahlia let out a cry so hurt and surprised that several people at nearby tables turned around to see what was the matter. "Danica, you _can't!_ You've got at least ten relatives I can name off the top of my head who would never be able to afford an overseas ticket. How can you do that to them?"

        Reaching her boiling point, Danica slammed a fist down on the table this time. "Don't you think this is hard enough on us without you laying on the guilt? We're doing the best we can to make everybody happy. I love Colin and he loves me, and nothing is going to keep us apart."

        "Danica, calm down. I don't like the way that you're talking to your mother - "

        "Then tell her to stop with the guilt trips."

        "She's not laying a guilt trip on you. Your mother is just being realistic. These are all things you should be thinking about."

        "And we ARE," Danica nearly growled.

        His controlled anger was almost as infuriating as the guilt trip they were trying to lay on her. "I'm going to ask you again, calm down, and stop yelling at your parents."

        "You're not _asking_ , you're _telling_ me, Dad. But I'm an adult, and you can't tell me what to do here." Taking one of the things her father had said to heart, Danica gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath to calm herself down. "Look, I know that I'm not just marrying Colin, and he's not just marrying me - we both have families who want everything to happen their way. But that's just not possible. We've got to make our own decisions in this. It would be easier if you would back me up and trust that I'm still your intelligent daughter who's going to make the best decision she can."

        Steven let out a sigh. "Honey, I don't think you're incapable of making intelligent decisions. I just think those decisions are a bit clouded by the fact that you're both still very young. He's only 21 himself, isn't he?"

        "We just want you to wait, and be sure," Dahlia added.

        At this point, Danica did openly roll her eyes. "I didn't say we were getting married _tomorrow_ , for pete's sake." She got up from the table. "I'm going to go call Quinn, and see where the hell he is. He should be here for all this, and he's not, and I want to know why."

        As she stepped away from the table, Danica knew her parents would be gabbing up a storm about her major announcement while she made the phone call. She'd hoped it would be different, with hugs and congratulations and at least a couple people happy over it, but that couldn't happen without someone her own age at the table with her. Someone her age would understand what it felt like to be in love and believe that anything was possible. Parents had too many years and mortgages between them and youth to even remember what it felt like, Danica thought.

        She tried the house phone first. Jodie answered. "Uh, hey," she said sheepishly.

        "Jodie, where the hell are you guys?" she asked, visibly upset. "The shit's hitting the fan here."

        "Over what?"

        "I'd rather tell you in person. What's up?"

        "Uh..." Jodie looked at Quinn's closed door. "...I haven't been able to get Quinn and Svetlana out of his room."

        "What the hell do you mean?"

        "Well... it's a long story, Danica. Um, let me give it another try, okay?" Going to the door, Jodie knocked. "Quinn? Your sister's on the phone. I'm coming in." She didn't wait for an answer, just turned the knob and opened the door.

        Jodie's eyes took in the state of their situation in only a few brief seconds; it was enough. She understood why she hadn't been able to rouse them for dinner when she saw the piles of paper, the ink and pencil lead, the looks of obsessive determination on their faces... unable to help it, she babbled into the phone almost hysterically, "Danica, I can't handle this anymore. I don't know what to do. I've tried to be there, but there's just nothing I can do to fix this."

        The desperation in Jodie's voice scared her. "Jodie, what are you talking about? Are they okay?"

        "You know what? No. They most definitely are not okay."

        Danica didn't know what was going on, but she thought it had something to do with the fact that Quinn and Svet hadn't been sleeping. "I'm coming over, alright?"

        "Please. Please come over," Jodie said, and burst into tears.

        Getting away from her parents proved to be difficult, but Danica finally found the right excuse to make them lay off of her for the time being. "I'm sorry to leave right in the middle of dinner, but I need some time to think about what you guys have said. I'm going over to Quinn's so I can tell him about my engagement."

        They agreed, and when she refused to let them drive her over, gave her some money for a cab.

        When Jodie opened the door, she immediately hugged Danica in despair, tears still rolling down her face.

        "Hey... hey, it'll be okay." She closed the door behind her. "Where are they?"

        Danica wasn't sure what she expected to see when she entered Quinn's bedroom. With the way Jodie reacted, she probably wouldn't have been surprised to see her brother and his girlfriend shooting up heroin. But this... what the hell was _this?_

        They were _drawing_. Both of them, completely engrossed, engulfed, in what they were sketching, to the point that their arms, hands, and faces were smeared with ink and pencil lead. Danica had never seen such a wild look of concentration on Quinn's face.

        Fascination. Obsession. She wasn't even sure what to call it.

        They were sitting on Quinn's bed. The space on the bed around them could not be seen; it was covered with drawings. Worse still, the floor around the bed was in the same state - piles of drawings completely obscured the carpet halfway to the bedroom door. They must've gone through two or three large sketchpads already.

        "Holy shit," were the first words Danica could manage. "What the hell are they doing?"

        "I'm not even sure anymore."

        Quinn had drawn something round and black; he was frantically trying to color it in some more. His hand went round and round in urgent circles, faster and faster, digging the fat charcoal pencil into the paper.

        Disturbed by this, Danica started to move the drawings aside with her feet and make her way to the bed. She looked at some of them. Several sketches of a well. Oh, so that's what he was drawing - the overhead view of this well. So, _why?_

        Svetlana had spent all of her time drawing two different guys, people Danica didn't recognize. They were labeled 'Savior,' 'Dean,' 'Sam,' and other titles that seemed to be in different languages. Danica pointed to the drawings and mouthed, "What the fuck?" to Jodie.

        Jodie gave her a, "See, what'd I tell ya?" shrug back.

        Danica moved some of the drawings off the bed and sat down in front of Quinn. "Quinn? Quinny? It's Danica. Whacha doin'?"

        His hand kept making those frenzied circles, muscles taught with tension. "It's not dark enough." Breathing hard, he rubbed his forearms and the backs of his hands over his face and through his hair, as if trying to groom himself, but only succeeded in smearing more charcoal all over his forehead and cheeks. The intensity in his eyes scared the hell out of his sister. He was like a tightly wound spring about to snap. "It's not _black_ enough!"

        "Quinny..." Danica scooted closer so she could take his face in her hands. "What's the matter with you? What are you doing?" She made a point of maintaining eye contact.

        Somehow, it all got through to him. Quinn's eyes softened, looking no longer crazy but only exhausted. The longer she touched his face, the more it crumpled, until he was beginning to cry. "Danica."

        "Oh... Quinn? Quinn, what's happening to you?"

        He took hold of her wrists. The contact, it grounded him, brought him back. "I feel like something's _stalking_ me! No matter what I do, I can't escape her!"

        "Who? Who's stalking you?"

        Quinn started to cry so hard, she could no longer understand most of what he said, just, "Help me, help me, Danica," over and over.

        Svetlana seemed oblivious to all of this. She continued to dreamily fill in Sam's hair in her latest drawing of him.

        Danica yanked the pad of paper off her brother's lap and tossed it aside so she could hug him to her. "It's okay, Quinny, it's okay. I'm here now. I'll help you. We'll fix it." As she patted his back and stroked his hair, Danica looked up at Jodie, standing near the bed. "What the hell is going on here?!"

  
it won't stop


	32. Day 32: The Past is Always There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Jess. Sam finds out that Jessica isn't as perfect as he originally assumed. He tries to forget about it by throwing himself into the task of saving those who have been cursed by the Daughters of Heptamera, including a girl he doesn't know at Stanford. Professor McNeal's runaway daughter may have been found in California, but not under good circumstances.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 32: The Past is Always There  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 32 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in April-May 2009.  
 **Word Count:** 4,075  
 **Summary:** Sam/Jess. Sam finds out that Jessica isn't as perfect as he originally assumed. He tries to forget about it by throwing himself into the task of saving those who have been cursed by the Daughters of Heptamera, including a girl he doesn't know at Stanford. Professor McNeal's runaway daughter may have been found in California, but not under good circumstances.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #32 Past and Coclaim100 Prompt #32 Sunlight.  
 **Author's Notes:** The scene with the coins falling from the ceiling was inspired by a similar scene from the movie _Poltergeist_ , where ghosts made jewelry and watches fall out of a spiritual portal in the ceiling.  
I'm always looking for interesting places to get character names from. The last name Carroll comes from a friend of mine. :)  
For this chapter, I used some real life details about Stanford to make it a little more realistic, but some other details may be incorrect (I don't know if there are really arched doorways in Branner Hall or even a TV room on the bottom floor, for instance).  
X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
         _Tell your father and brother not to come to Boston._

        Boston. Something big was going down in Boston in about three days, and most of those countdowns Sam had seen on the television in Bloodworth's vault ended in about that amount of time. It was a great place for him to continue his search.

        Before he had headed down to the library, Sam had checked out the things Katherine Sawyer said in the dream. A chapter on Alexandra Baptiste's sculpture... well, the woman hadn't been lying. In the book that was only about her art, there was a chapter about Baptiste's brief foray into sculpture, casting several statues of the various daughters of Heptamera. They were all depicted in their dark, after death states, with hair in their stone faces and a wet look to their clothes. Sam could tell by the way the dresses hung. He wondered how Baptiste had created the statues, when the paintings had been accomplished with Heptamera's help. These works had been cast in bronze, then chemically treated to give them a dark blue marble-look patina. The casting process was not a short one, with multiple steps; was Alexandra in contact with Heptamera throughout each part of this process?

        Katherine was right. The statue of Charlotte had been posed with just a little of her eyes showing through her hair. They _did_ seem to stare right into you.

        A few other works depicted different subjects, such as a woman in a long dress floating on a column of fire, her eyes closed and hair flowing, arms hanging limp. This one was called _Head on a Pike_. The title was perplexing; maybe it would make sense in time. All Sam knew was that she didn't seem to be one of the Daughters, and looking at the statue made the space between his eyes tingle.

        He got a completely different feeling when he saw the work that Katherine had described as "the monolith." A cold, involuntary chill swept up his back at the sight of the eight foot tall stone structure. This one wasn't made of bronze, but of rock, like it had been carved from a slab taken off a cliff. Some sort of dark gray, earthy material. The slab had been carved and smoothed into a rectangular shape, eight feet tall, four feet wide, and about a foot deep. Except at two spots, where distinctive reliefs had been carved out.

        The bottom half of the monolith was dominated by a three to four foot tall top section of a well, only the part of it that would be above ground, blended at the back into the towering rectangle. The tracks of cement that would be between each brick of the well had been carved out to make it look more realistic; there was even a large crack running down from the rim to give it a weathered look. Overhead shots revealed that the inside of this mock well had been hollowed out down to a stone floor, flush with the bottom of the monolith.

        Another relief jutted out from the top half, that of a human face with its mouth open in a scream, forever frozen in rock.

        Sam understood why this thing gave Katherine Sawyer the creeps. Even through simple pictures in a book, he could feel the darkness that radiated from the piece of art. But it wasn't just a piece of art, was it? It had some sort of function; Sam just knew it did. He thought the title was especially telling.

        The monolith had been named _Gateway to the Fortress_.

        This is why he now found himself in the college library, chewing on a pencil while he looked through the latest edition of _The Boston Herald_. Lucky for him, Stanford got many of the major papers for student use. It hadn't been long enough for this edition to be archived, so Sam had to paw carefully through every page, looking for any reports of an injured (or dead) woman named Jolene or teenager named Jasmine while the sunlight progressively waned outside the library's windows.

        Sam had tried to get their phone numbers. Unfortunately, every avenue he utilized required that he have a last name as well in order to search for them, or at least the first letter. The woman at directory assistance attempted to be as polite as possible when she refused to look for Jolene Something under every letter of the alphabet. Sam apologized, embarrassed, for trying her patience. Then he decided he would conduct this search himself, once he was done with the newspaper.

        That wasn't going to be a fun undertaking. The Internet White Pages required the first _two_ letters of the last name to do a search. That meant Sam would have to use every letter of the alphabet and every possible second letter combination before his search would even be possible. Jolene Aa, Jolene Ab, Jolene Ac... by the time he finished, the woman would be dead, for pete's sake. If she wasn't already.

        No, the bullet hadn't done any damage. Sam had seen it for himself. No blood, no bullet wound. Perhaps he was concentrating on the wrong person, and should -

        A pair of feminine hands closed over his eyes. Sam grinned.

        "Guess who."

        He took one hand and brought it down to his mouth, growling and nibbling playfully on a finger. Jessica squealed. Turning in his seat, Sam smiled up at her. "Hey you."

        "Hi Sam." Grinning too, Jessica sat down in the seat next to his. She glanced at the notes he'd made. "What are you up to?"

        Sam, trying to seem casual, put his elbow on his notepad and slid it under the newspaper as he leaned closer to her. He didn't want her to see such cryptic notes as _Jolene, shot by one of the hunters?_ and _Girl lying on a column of fire, dead or unconscious_ ; how would he ever explain them? "Just reading the paper," he replied.

        "From Boston?" Jessica remarked. "Now that's keeping up with the news."

        "It's one of the best papers in the country," Sam added. That sounded like a good save.

        She made an agreeable "Mmm," sound before launching into an important piece of gossip she'd heard. "Sam, you know how we were talking about those Bloodworth people and their Nazi grandfather?"

        "Uh huh...?"

        "Well, I still had that book on my desk yesterday morning, before I gave it to you, and - um, someone saw it sitting there. They told me a few things about the case that I know you'll find _very_ interesting." Jessica raised her eyebrows and smiled playfully.

        She was still treating this whole thing like it was all just a goof, a mystery to be unfolded. Sam had no idea how to get her to stop researching this thing for him without telling her the truth and, in her eyes, making himself look insane. He sighed, putting a hand alongside her knee. "I thought you weren't going to be my research assistant anymore."

        Rolling her eyes, Jessica replied, "Oh Sam, you're so silly. Come on, let me tell you what I've heard."

        He sighed once more. "Okay. Whatcha got?"

        A satisfied grin spread across her face. She was so eager and happy to have something juicy to tell him; Sam was at a complete loss to figure out how he was going to get her out of this thing for good. He only hoped the information Jessica had uncovered wouldn't provoke Alexandra's rage. "Well, you know how the book said that Hitler encouraged Suzette to make cursed films?"

        "Yeah, I remember."

        "It seems that she actually made one."

        Although Sam got a tingle of surprise up his spine, it really wasn't an unexpected bit of news. What was surprising was that the knowledge came from Jessica. "How do you know that?"

        "My friend told me," she replied. Her eyes shifted back and forth briefly when she said it, like she was avoiding looking him in the eye.

        Sam paused for a moment of thought before asking, "It's Craig, isn't it?"

        Jessica jumped a little in her skin, her eyes widening for a second, then she settled down with a sigh. "Um, yeah. Craig's the one who told me."

        Dread crawled through Sam's stomach like a tightening wire. "How does he know?"

        "He heard a rumor about it that's going around campus. Some girl watched the film a few days ago, and since then, all these weird things have been happening when she's around. Some of the freshman in Branner Hall have been blabbing about it all week."

        A few days ago... so he still had time. "How do they know it's Suzette's cursed film?"

        "I don't know; it's just one of those stories that goes around. Someone said that a History professor had seen it and confirmed what it was." Jessica shrugged with a small laugh. "But who knows if any of it is true. You know how these stories are. An urban legend or something."

        "A History professor? A professor here?" Sam asked. His mind swam with the sinister possibilities. Did this professor know what the film could do? Had he shown his copy to this girl on purpose? Or was it all a horrible coincidence?

        Jessica just shrugged again.

        With a pause of trepidation, Sam added, "You didn't watch this film, did you?"

        "No," she replied, shaking her head. Jessica sounded disappointed. "I'm really curious, though. I mean, what could be on it, you know? If it's supposed to kill you," she finished with a snicker.

        Sam, taking her hand, spoke with the most sincere and deadly serious tone he could muster. "Jess, I want you to promise me that if you're given the chance to view this film that you won't watch it. Alright?"

        She laughed, "Why? Sam, you really believe in this curse, don't you? I was just teasing you before, but you really are that superstitious."

        "Yes. Yes, I admit it - I'm just that superstitious."

        Jessica started to laugh again, but something about the innocent, pleading puppy dog look on his face gave her pause. As he put his other hand over hers, enveloping her palm in both of his, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "I can't believe you're this serious. But if it means that much to you, then I promise I won't watch the film."

        A relieved smile touched the corners of Sam's mouth. "Even if Craig wants you to?"

        Putting up her other hand like a Girl Scout taking an oath, she said, "Even if Craig tries to show me the film, I promise I won't watch it. Happy?"

        Now he did sigh with relief. "Yes."

        "You know you're killing me, right? I'm really curious now."

        "Actually, I may be saving you."

        Jessica took her hand back. "Oh, right." She smacked his arm. "You're being ridiculous, you know."

        Sam played along. "I know. But it still makes me feel better to have that promise."

        Once again, she rolled her eyes.

        Sam wondered if it was just a coincidence that Craig knew so many things about this film, at a time when Sam was researching it. And the film being here at Stanford, was that a coincidence? Or was it fate? Had this situation been engineered, just when Sam needed to know more about how the curse worked?

        He had to find this student. "Jess, what's the girl's name?"

        "The one who watched the cursed film? Uh, Meredith, I think."

        "What's her last name?"

        "I dunno."

        "Would Craig know?"

        Shrugging, Jess said, "I don't think so. He didn't seem to know it when he told me the story." She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. "Why? What are you going to do, go looking for her?"

        "Well..."

        "I could help you. Some of the guys would be more likely to talk to me than you."

        Sam tried not to wince where she'd notice. "Jess... I'd rather do this by myself, okay? I just... I don't want..."

        "You'd rather spend time with me doing other things, I know," she finished for him, sighing in disappointment. "You're driving me nuts, keeping me out of this thing."

        "I know, I know. But I told you..." Pausing to shake his head, Sam sighed and changed the subject. "Why don't we go to a movie tonight instead?

        "I, um... I can't." That eye shift again. "I'm sorry, I have plans."

        No one had to hit him over the head with the truth. Sam replied, "Craig?"

        Jessica nodded sheepishly. "When I told you I wanted to break up with him, I meant it. But it's not something you can just do when... we, um... we've been together since high school, Sam."

        That was something he hadn't expected. "So it's been years."

        She nodded again. "And we, uh, we... live together." Wincing, Jessica briefly touched Sam's hand, hoping the things she was telling him wouldn't scare him away.

        Leaning back, he put a little distance between them. "Are you sure I'm not just the rebound guy?" Sam said with a small, bitter laugh.

        "That's impossible." Jessica, swallowing hard, braced for another negative reaction. "Tim was the rebound guy." She paused before quickly adding, "But that's over. It was at least six months ago."

        "You _cheated_ on your boyfriend?"

        "Sam, it's been over between Craig and I for a long time. Problem is, I'm the only one who knows it." Shrugging, Jessica looked at the floor. "I understand that you'd rather I break up with him before we go much further. But you have to understand that these things take time." She leaned over and softly kissed his lips. Sam didn't move, didn't react. "Everything that I've said about you and me and how I feel about you is the truth."

        Unsure how to digest everything that she'd just told him, Sam didn't meet her eyes. "Well, you guys do have history. I guess you need time to talk." He suddenly grabbed his backpack and stood up. "I completely forgot, I can read this paper online. I think I'm gonna..." Sam pointed to the library's front doors.

        "You're upset, aren't you?"

        He shook his head. "No. I just need some time to take it all in. I mean, you guys have been together for years. I don't really know what that's like, but I can imagine."

        Jessica nervously jumped up and followed him across the library as he made his way toward the exit. "Call me tomorrow, okay?"

        "Okay." Forcing a small grin for her, Sam put the Boston paper back in its slot and walked out.

        Jessica nibbled on her bottom lip. She feared he may never speak to her again.

        Outside, the sun had completely descended below the horizon.

*****

        Lassiter McNeal knew there was something wrong as soon as he entered his home and looked up from the table just inside the door.

        Tutoring and meetings with his students had run long. He didn't get home until nearly seven. As soon as he'd come in the door that led out to the garage and put his keys in the bowl on the table, Lassiter began to talk to his teenage son, whom he spotted getting up from the couch out of the corner of his eye. "The lawn's getting a little ragged, Trace. Do you think you could mow it by..."

        The look on Tracy's face told him everything. The boy was naturally pale, and his long black hair against his face usually made him appear even paler by comparison, but tonight, he looked unnaturally white, with wide blue eyes and a shocked expression on his face. His hands fidgeted nervously, the black-painted nails scratching at his denim jeans. "Dad?"

        Lassiter's hand stilled on the keys he'd just dropped. His first guess would have been trouble at school, but the shell-shocked look on Tracy's face... "What happened?"

        "Dad, the Los Angeles police called. They found the bodies of two teenage girls in a dumpster in the downtown area."

        A chill ran up Lassiter's back, quickly replaced by numbness. He looked at the framed photographs lined up on the skinny table behind the couch. A family picture from five years ago, the way his family once was; a photo of his dead wife; and individual school pictures of each of his two kids. His eyes lingered on the photo of his daughter, Adrianna. She'd be fourteen now.

        Tracy continued. "One of the girls has been identified. It's Crystal Stern."

        Crystal. One of the kids Adrianna had taken off with just about a year ago. They, along with Jamie and C.J. Blacksmith, had stolen Mrs. Blacksmith's car and run away, each for their own variety of reasons. Lassiter hadn't see his daughter since.

        There had been reports over the last year, reports from all across the country. The car had been found in Chicago. Probably abandoned. The kids didn't seem to be going to any particular place, just further and further away from home.

        This was the first time that any of those reports had panned out. Unfortunately, when they actually found one of the runaway kids, she was dead.

        "The police want you to fly out there and, uh... take a look at the other body." Tracy swallowed hard, rubbing his hands on his jeans. His voice shook. "Since she was with Crystal, they think she might... the body is really decomposed, and... they just want to be sure."

        Lassiter knew exactly what the police wanted him to do. If the other body was Adrianna, they wanted him to identify her.

        It wasn't like it couldn't be true. He remembered the argument he'd had with his daughter two weeks before she ran away, when he walked in on her and Crystal kissing in Adrianna's room, neither one wearing a top. The girl had tried to keep the focus of the argument on the fact that he'd walked in without knocking, that she'd thought he wouldn't even be home that early, and it had taken him a while to get the topic back to what the teen girls had been doing. Adrianna declared that Crystal was her girlfriend, which opened up a whole new can of worms.

        It wasn't that Lassiter didn't want a gay daughter; it was her age that bothered him. He tried to explain that kids often thought they knew what they were feeling, but were too young to understand the complexities of life.

        That hadn't gone over very well.

        He doubted that the fight was the sole reason Adrianna had run away, but it probably didn't help.

        So, the idea that the body found with Crystal Stern was Adrianna made a great deal of sense. Yes, it certainly could be true.

        The entire way over on the plane, Lassiter would be praying it wasn't. "I'll leave right away."

        He received his first call from Jodie on the way to the airport. Lassiter let it go to voicemail.

        "Professor McNeal, this is Jodie. Jodie Searling. Things over here are just getting weirder and weirder, with the videotape thing. Could you give me a call? Please? I don't know what to do."

        He could hear that she was trying very hard to stay calm, but there was hysteria in her voice, clawing to get out. Lassiter really wanted to call her back. He did. But Jodie's problems were small compared to what he faced in Los Angeles.

        Lassiter, now sitting on the airplane and staring out the window at the dark, did not return her call.

*****

        Waiting in the common area on the bottom floor of Branner Hall, Sam stared at the screen of his laptop. He'd spent the last three hours desperately trying to appear casual as he asked every student he could find if they knew Meredith, a girl he didn't even know himself. He couldn't even describe her.

        "Gee, no, man, I don't know anybody named Meredith. What's she look like?" most of them would say. And Sam had no idea. It was awkward.

        Finally, an hour ago, two girls said they did know a Meredith who lived in this dorm. Long brown hair; pretty; no, she didn't wear glasses; yes, she had been complaining of not being able to sleep; and yes, several people who lived on the same floor had been saying that Meredith woke up screaming three times in the last five days, that she had been telling everyone that her dorm room was haunted. The girls told Sam that if he waited in the TV room, he could catch Meredith when she came home from her job at the bookstore. He gave them another innocent, boyish smile and thanked them, attempting to be as non-threatening as possible. Either these girls hadn't bought into all the safety lectures the campus police had given them at orientation, or Sam had been successful at minimizing his size and accentuating his charm. It was obvious that he knew nothing more about this girl than her first name. Meredith's friends had still told him everything, even that her full name was Meredith Carroll.

        While waiting for her, Sam opened his laptop computer and began searching the Boston paper again. He found the article about Jasmine Fuller and, as he read, his body went numb.

        Something about what happened to Jasmine baffled the police. Someone had been chasing her, had run the girl out in front of the police car, but they had escaped silently into the woods. The police were leaving something out; Sam could read between the lines. Something about what had happened to Jasmine was bizarre and unexplainable.

        Sam stared at her picture in the middle of the article. She was real. The girl he'd chased through the forest hallucination last night was a real, living, breathing girl. And she was now in a coma at Massachusetts General Hospital.

        At least she wasn't dead. For the second time since this whole thing had started, Sam wanted to call his father. Or, at least Dean. At the end of the week, a lot of people could die, and Sam wasn't sure there was anything he could do to stop it.

        He thought again of Meredith. She was here, not unreachable in Boston, but _here_. If he could just save this one, there would be sunlight at the end of the tunnel concerning saving the rest.

        It was because of his shock over finding at least some of the information he'd been searching for that he didn't realize the freshman had come into the room.

        "You were asking about Meredith?"

        Sam jumped, making his computer bobble in his lap. Looking at her for a moment, sitting on the couch perpendicular to the one on which he sat, Sam blurted, "God, you startled me." He noticed the tense, frightened look on her face, the way she was tightly wringing her hands. "Are you - "

        "Shhh!" She glanced at an arched doorway nearby. "If we're quiet, maybe she won't notice us."

        Following her eyes, Sam saw the little girl standing in the doorway. He gasped. It was one of the Metternich twins. Clad in a white dress, a pink bow tying her black hair back from her face, she crossed the room. Her face was sad, with deep circles under her eyes. She didn't look well. When she began to walk toward them, the freshman whimpered.

        Sophie was the sickly one. Isn't that what the book said?

        The child had her hands up, cupped together in front of her. As she got closer, Sam realized she was holding a pile of coins. "Sophie?" he nearly whispered.

        She spared him one dismissive glance before turning to the girl. The freshman hissed and groaned as she pushed up on the back of the couch, prepared to just about climb over it in an effort to escape. But Sophie was already right in front of her. The little girl slowly dumped the coins into the freshman's lap, letting them run between her fingers. They made a jingling noise as they cascaded down and spread over the girl's thighs and the couch cushions. The freshman let out short, fearful groans.

        A coin plinked off Sam's head. He looked up and saw a ring of icy blue electricity sparking above their heads, near the ceiling. Coins of all sizes were falling out of midair onto him and the freshman girl. Sam caught a few in his hand, looking at them in shock. They were all old, tarnished and nicked. One of the silver coins in his hand had an eagle and a Nazi swastika on it.

         _The Nazis manufactured their own money,_ Sam's mind doled out to him. It was all it could think of to do as the rest of his brain was frozen in disbelief. The ceiling was raining coins.

        The freshman looked from the child standing before her to the sparking circle on the ceiling, her hands open to catch the coins too. One almost fell in her open mouth as they rained down upon her. "What the hell is this?" she cried. "What do you want from me?!"

        Sophie said nothing. She gave the freshman one last sorrowful look and turned and walked from the room.

        Before the ring of electricity disappeared, Sam realized that it resembled a phantom opening into a well. Perhaps Sophie's well.

        The coins stopped falling, but they did not vaporize like the ring. The room smelled of a burned out circuit.

        As soon as it stopped, the freshman jumped up and frantically brushed the coins from her body, squealing in horror as if she was covered in roaches. Sam examined several of the ones in his lap. They were all German coins. That shouldn't be surprising.

        Once she got her breath, the freshman asked, "You saw her too, right? You knew her name."

        Nodding, Sam stated what was now obvious to him. "You're Meredith, aren't you?"

        "Yeah." She sat back down on the couch and leaned toward him. "Who are you?"

        "I'm Sam."

        Before he could explain, she said, "Did Professor Keaner show you the film too?"

        He lied. "Yeah. Yeah, he did." So, it was some History professor named Keaner. "When did he show it to you?"

        Meredith's eyes teared up. "Almost a week ago. I have about two days left." She swallowed back her tears. "That's what they said to me. _Sieben Tage_. It's - "

        " _Seven days_ ," Sam finished, and sighed. "Seven days in German."

  
it won't stop


	33. Day 33: As a Phantom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang holds a séance to contact the spirit that has been trying to help Quinn and Svetlana in their dreams, Mysteria. The results are, of course, enlightening and dramatic.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 33: As a Phantom  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 33 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in May 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,604  
 **Summary:** The gang holds a séance to contact the spirit that has been trying to help Quinn and Svetlana in their dreams, Mysteria. The results are, of course, enlightening and dramatic.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #33 Present and Coclaim100 Prompt #33 Voice.  
 **Author's Notes:** My friend Sammie and I actually had this conversation about Swiss cheese once. :D

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Bleary-eyed, Quinn stared at the mushroom and Swiss cheese burger in his hand before taking another bite. "Why is it that Swiss cheese alone tastes like crap and smells like feet, but put it on a burger and it's like heaven?" he said while chewing.

        Darcy looked at him from her place on the arm of the couch, shrugging. "You're welcome."

        "Thanks for bringing this food over," Svetlana said. She took another bite of her own hamburger.

        "No problem." Darcy eyed Quinn's sister Danica as she excitedly paced the living room. "So what are we up to tonight?"

        "I can't believe you guys didn't tell me about this right off," Danica said, continuing to pace. "This is badass."

        "Badass? Did you not just see me have a complete meltdown in there?" Quinn replied, irritated.

        "I know _you_ guys aren't having any fun, but from the outside, this is pretty damn cool. Come on Jodie, back me up."

        "Well..." Jodie, sheepish, cringed a little. "...it was cool at first. Then these two started freaking out and it wasn't so cool anymore."

        Danica rolled her eyes and growled in frustration. "You sit here and tell me you watched a _videotape_ that's _cursed_ , a ghost is _stalking_ you, and you won't even let me be excited about it?"

        "Be excited all you want. I just won't be joining you," Quinn sighed.

        Shaking her head, Darcy remarked, "I don't understand how you can see things that way, Danica. Your brother and his girlfriend are being stalked and bewitched by a _demon_."

        "I thought you said it was a ghost..."

        "It is a ghost," Quinn replied, nodding.

        Svetlana explained, "Darcy think it's a demon."

        Addressing Darcy directly, Danica asked, "How can the ghost of a little girl be a demon?"

        Darcy waved the question off. "There's no proof we're dealing with the ghost of this child. Demons are crafty. They know how to pretend to be the dead."

        "Well, we'll just have to find out exactly what we're dealing with." Danica rubbed her hands together. "Did you get in touch with your professor?"

        Jodie shook her head. "He's still not answering his phone. So I called Akemi, his T.A., and she's on her way over."

        "Is she a Demonologist too?"

        "No, but I figure she's had to of picked up a thing or two from working with him."

        "You may have something there. Now..." Snatching up a pad of paper, Danica sat at the kitchen table and prepared to write. "If you could ask this Samara girl any questions, what would you ask?"

        "We told you, we already did that," Quinn reminded her.

        Svetlana added, "Once was enough."

        "Who else could we contact, then?"

        "Contact...?" Darcy began. She didn't like the sound of that.

        Suddenly sitting forward, Svetlana blurted, "Mysteria!"

        "Hey, yeah," Quinn agreed. "I bet she could fill in a lotta blanks."

        "How are we going to 'contact' Mysteria?" Darcy questioned.

        "A Ouija board, of course," said Danica.

        "Oh, hell no!" Darcy spat. "That'd be like opening the door and saying, 'Hello Mr. Demon, why don't you come on in and possess my body? I like it!'" She crossed her arms.

        Quinn mumbled, "I believe that would be Miss Demon..."

        Giving an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Danica said, "Oh my God, do you think I'm an idiot? This isn't a freakin' slumber party where we're going to try to contact Satan and all pee our pants in fear." She wiggled her hands in the air and put on a scared face, imitating a frightened teenager. "A Ouija board's just a tool. There are precautions you can take. For one thing, we're not contacting Samara. We're contacting Mysteria."

        "But that's just what they want you to think..."

        Danica rolled her eyes even more dramatically, leaning back in her chair and shrugging with her arms. "Well, you've just got an answer for everything."

        "I want to see what Mysteria say," Svetlana threw in. She hoped it would quiet Darcy's protests.

        "You don't even know what Mysteria is," snapped Darcy. "She could be a demon too."

        "Look, if it really bothers you that much, we don't have to use a Ouija board. We can ask our questions through automatic writing," Danica offered.

        "It doesn't matter how you make contact; it's all dangerous."

        Quinn and his sister rolled their eyes in unison.

        Darcy tried to continue. "In the Bible, it forbids contacting the dead and - "

        "Hey," Quinn interrupted, "I appreciate that you're looking out for us and all, but we need to find out what the hell's going on here. This Mysteria chick... thing... whatever is trying to tell us something important, and if we don't find out what it is, this is all going to get a lot worse."

        Darcy was unfazed. "That's exactly what it wants you to think. That you need its help, so you open the door."

        "Does she have to be here?" Danica asked with an annoyed sigh.

        Svetlana's head came up sharply. "Hey... Darcy's my friend."

        "And Quinn is my brother." Danica tapped her chest. "And no little ghost bitch is going to come in here and make my brother cry."

        Quinn had to laugh, but awkwardly.

        "If there's something I can do to make this better, I'm going to do it. So you can either stay and watch, or you can leave," Danica said to Darcy, who tensed up and shifted a bit on the arm of the couch. "Protest all you want, but we're going to contact this spirit."

        "Fine. I'm not leaving." She looked at Svetlana. "Svet is my friend and she wants me here. If you're bound and determined to do this, then I'll be here to try and protect us all."

        "Well man the torpedoes!" Danica saluted her. She sat back down. "Now, questions for our friend Mysteria?"

        Darcy started to shoot back an angry retort, but Svetlana cut in before she could. "Who are Dean and Sam?"

        "Okay." Danica wrote the question down. "Let me see those drawings one more time."

        Jodie retrieved a few of Svetlana's sketches of the Winchester brothers. When Danica saw the art of Dean again, she growled, "Phwoar!"

        The sound made Jodie jump. "What the hell was that?"

        "This guy, he's really hot. So I said 'Phwoar.'"

        "...Phwoar?"

        "Yeah. It's British slang for 'Schwing!'"

        The others looked slightly less confused, except Svetlana, who said, "What is schwing?"

        "You know..." Danica, frustrated, tried to explain one slang expression before she explained the other. "Wayne and Garth from _Wayne's World_ , when they think a girl is hot, they say schwing. So, a lot of British people say phwoar instead. And this guy is phwoar-worthy..."

        Quinn and Jodie exchanged a look. "You're not going to start 'across the pond'ing us now are you?" he asked.

        Jodie snort-laughed.

        "Never mind. He's good-looking." Switching to the next drawing, she remarked, "This other guy isn't half bad either. But I prefer the blonds." Danica smiled. "Colin's a blond, you know."

        Getting up, Quinn crossed to the table and nudged her arm. "Hey, I'm sorry I wasn't there tonight, at the dinner. It really is great that you and Colin got engaged. Never met him, but you've told me so much about him that I feel like I know him already. He's a good guy."

        "Thanks, bro." Danica stood to hug him. "I'll get him over here sometime." Still grinning, she sat down and picked up the pen again. "So, questions?"

        When Akemi arrived, they had pulled the kitchen table into the middle of the living room; pages torn from Svetlana's biggest sketchpad lay on top of it. "I'll buy you another one," Danica had promised.

        Akemi looked down at the table, touching the little heart-shaped piece of thin wood on wheels. "This is the planchette?"

        "Yeah." Danica patted it. "Jodie and Quinn have volunteered to put their fingers on it for leverage. The pen goes here..." She put the tip of her finger into the little hole near the point of the heart. "...and it writes on the paper as the spirit moves the planchette."

        Akemi nodded. "I'm familiar with the concept."

        "So Professor McNeal did teach you a thing or two about his other trade?" Jodie asked with a grin.

        The exchange student nodded again. "A little. This is automatic writing, yes?"

        "Yes."

        "Ah. My Oba-chan told me not to play with things like Ouija boards and the like. Said it wasn't good to disturb the spirits." A devious little smile touched the corners of her mouth. "I think I'll take the chance."

        To herself, Darcy mumbled, "Your Oba-chan was right."

        Danica grinned too. "It's kind of exciting, huh?"

        Embarrassed, Akemi laughed. "I've only observed one session like this with McNeal-sensei. I'm very interested to see what happens here tonight."

        "Oba-chan, that's 'Grandmother'?" Jodie asked.

        Akemi nodded her head a third time. She didn't speak as much as her American counterparts; this was the most animated Jodie had seen her in a while. Spending time with the professor had exposed her to enough of the occult to teach her a few terms and get her interested in things about which her elders could be superstitious. Jodie figured part of the fascination in Akemi's eyes was about exploring taboos, as well as indulging in something different.

        "Do you have Ouija boards in Japan?" Danica questioned.

        Grinning wider and chuckling, Akemi replied, "Yes, but they can be expensive. Most people just play Kokkuri-san." She saw the curiosity in everyone's eyes, so she continued. "You draw the hiragana alphabet on a sheet of paper and use a yen piece as the pointer. Everyone puts a finger on the coin, and then you ask Kokkuri-san to answer your questions. It's practically the same."

        "What does Kokkuri-san mean?" asked Quinn.

        "It's a little hard to translate. It means 'to nod up and down,' but its kanji refers to the supernatural forces at work to make the coin move." Akemi laughed, her eyes crinkling almost shut, at a memory she did not share. "Some people use a pen to talk to Kokkuri-san as well."

        "Yeah, the spirit just writes out all their answers. The pen gives them a voice."

        Sitting at the table, Jodie placed the pen into the hole. "We getting this show on the road?"

        Quinn sat on the opposite side of the table from Jodie. Svetlana took the seat next to him, but as soon as Danica lowered the lights and lit a nearby candle, she shivered and slid into Quinn's lap, putting an arm around his neck. He put one arm about her waist and the other on the table. "You scared?"

        Svet just nodded.

        Darcy stood watch, but stayed back, her arms still folded sternly across her chest. After watching to see where Danica planned to stand, Akemi hovered around the other side of the table to see what would happen.

        "Okay." Taking a deep breath, Danica readied herself to switch out the sheets of paper when needed. "We would like to contact a particular spirit somewhere out there in the ether. God, please protect us while we embark on this contact with the realm beyond our own. Nothing may use the tool of contact to harm anyone here, especially not through possession." She gave Darcy a sassy look, to which Darcy almost curtsied, knowing that last comment was thrown in just for her. "The entity we contact may only influence the planchette to move. Nothing more." Danica looked at Darcy again. She didn't want to interrupt the quiet mood, so she clapped her hands softly in approval. Then Danica finished, "In other words, you malevolent spirits out there, you better stay away. You don't want to fuck with me."

        Darcy rolled her eyes into a full head loll, her chin against her chest. Everyone snickered.

        "Alrighty." Danica signaled the others, to which Jodie and Quinn responded by placing two fingers each on either side of the planchette, holding it as steady as possible. "We would like to contact the spirit that goes by the name Mysteria. If you can hear us, please respond."

        The planchette did not move at first. After about four seconds, it teetered slightly under their fingers. Quinn and Jodie let out small gasps. Everyone smiled a little in anticipation, except Darcy, who jerked in her skin as if it startled her.

        "Mysteria? Do you wish to speak with us?"

        The planchette moved jerkily to the right, only enough to leave a tiny mark on the paper. Then suddenly, it began to glide smoothly into what appeared to be a word. Everyone made some sort of sound in reaction - some gasped, some snickered excitedly, and some moaned to themselves in dread of what might happen.

        "It's moving," Jodie said. The others could see that for themselves, but they all wanted to exclaim the same thing.

        "And it's making..." Quinn was about to say it was making sense until he saw what the spirit had written. "Is that English?"

        Danica shook her head. "No, I think it's... Greek?" She sighed, crossing her arms. "Can you speak to us in English?"

        "Yeah, like that universal translating thing my mom was talking about," added Jodie. "She could understand the people in her hallucinations."

        "Shh." Danica opened her mouth to suggest something else, but the pen began to move over the paper again.

         _I am sorry,_ it said.

        "Ah, so you can speak English."

         _Yes._

        "Are you Mysteria?"

        A slight pause, and then, _Yes._

        "Oh my God, it's answering her," Quinn almost whispered. His eyes had grown big with amazement.

        "Who are you, Mysteria?" Danica asked.

        Another pause, before the answer came. _Spirit guide._

        "A spirit guide... wow." Danica seemed to know what that was. "Whose spirit guide are you?"

        Jodie, Quinn, and Svetlana gasped at the answer. _Sammy's._

        "The guy! Dean's... whatever. The guy my mom saw!" Jodie exclaimed. Although the excitement was obvious in her voice, she still tried to keep it down, knowing that Danica was in control of the session.

        As if to signal this fact, Danica put a finger to her lips. "You're the spirit guide of this guy Jodie's mother saw in her vision?"

        "We meet him too," Svetlana whispered.

         _Yes._

        "Then he's psychic?"

         _Yes._

        "So he talks to you."

         _No._

        Taken aback, Danica replied, "What do ya mean, no? That's the whole point of a spirit guide, to guide their psychic through both worlds."

         _He's not ready._

        "Oh. So why are you mucking around in the dreams Samara Morgan has sent them?" She gestured to her brother and Svetlana.

         _Trying to help without detection._

        "You don't want to be detected? By who?"

         _The ones who cursed them._

        "Huh, okay. Speaking to them in dreams through symbols and stuff is safer than talking to them when they're awake."

         _Yes._

        "Does that mean you're risking something by talking to us now?"

        Svetlana whimpered at Danica's question.

        They could almost sense the spirit nodding at her answer, _Yes._ And then, _You're being watched._

        Svet whimpered again, hiding her face in Quinn's neck for a moment.

        Even Jodie shuddered.

        "Should we hurry, then?"

         _Please._

        Before continuing, Danica pulled out the full sheet of paper for the fresh one underneath. "I'll try. Why have you taken a special interest in helping us?"

         _You are mine._

        "We are..." Danica knitted her brow at the cryptic answer. "What do you mean, you are mine?"

         _Descendants._

        "Holy..." Quinn started, but didn't finish the thought.

        "We're your descendants? Does that mean you were once a person? You were alive?"

         _Yes._

        "How many years ago?"

         _Over 200._

        Danica tried to keep the questions coming fast. "Was your name Mysteria when you were alive?"

        The spirit paused again. _No._

        "Then what was your name?"

        Another pause, this one longer. _You are being watched,_ she repeated.

        "You don't want Samara to know your real name?"

         _Correct._

        "They would know who you are."

         _Yes yes yes._

        Quinn let out a sigh of trepidation. "I can feel their eyes on us," he said, making Svet whimper again.

        "Why are you trying to bring us together with this Dean guy?" Danica asked.

         _He might be able to help you._

        "Why him? What does he know?"

         _He is a hero. He will help you, him and his family._

        "How do we - "

        The planchette began to move before Danica could finish her question. _I tried to fight this evil in life. It has been passed down, you don't know the whole story. Ask your grandmother._

        Akemi watched the planchette move the pen across the paper, almost scribbling now. "She's becoming frantic," she remarked, then gasped and straightened up. "Someone's coming."

        Quinn just nodded. His girlfriend buried her face in his neck, not coming out to look this time. The ones who had been cursed could feel what Mysteria had mentioned.

        They were being watched.

        Again, Danica changed the page. "Wait, are you talking about that stuff Ms. Searling saw? Alexandra Baptiste and the horses and all that?"

         _Yes._

        "You said you were alive over two hundred years ago. That sounds about right. So you were trying to fight Alexandra Baptiste when you were alive?"

         _Yes. I passed it down. The story, the methods, it's all still there. Look for it. You will need it._ And then, _They don't realize what they are doing. They don't realize what they are setting in motion._

        "What are they setting in motion?" asked Danica.

        A long pause, then, _Their own destruction._

        Svetlana suddenly turned her head, trying to look over her shoulder at the front door. She appeared to sense that someone was there. "What Dean's last name?" Svetlana broke in, quickly.

         _Winchester,_ wrote Mysteria.

        "How can... we..."

        Again, Mysteria interrupted her by continuing to write. _I can't hide anymore. You need to know._

 _I was Phaedra._

        "That's your real name?" Even Danica could feel something now, some heavy atmosphere hanging over the room. "Why are you telling us this now?"

        When the spirit wrote her last sentence, she bore down so hard she tore the paper.

         _Because she's here._

        Her face a mask of fear, Akemi slowly turned and looked over her shoulder. Quinn looked at the front door now too. The others just looked, but did not see.

        The ones who were cursed could see a figure standing behind the door, in deep shadow. She seemed to be wearing a cloak over her head. "You... you're still plotting against me," Alexandra hissed. "Why are you still plotting against me? You _betrayer_."

        Svetlana started to cry, clinging to Quinn tightly.

        "What? What is it?" Danica asked.

        "I think it's Alexandra Baptiste," Quinn replied. His mouth hung open in astonishment.

        Jodie wondered aloud, "Why can't I see her?"

        "You ungrateful... you betray your own... how could you? I should have known... I should have known you were Mysteria." Alexandra took a step forward.

        Akemi backed into the table, then went around it, toward Darcy, who began to pray quietly. Darcy couldn't see the demon either, but could feel it was there.

        "Do you really think she can save you? Do you think the Winchesters can either?" Two more steps forward. "No one can save you." Suddenly, Alexandra rushed forward, right into Quinn's face. He fell over backward out of the chair, onto the floor, scrambling back into the short wall that divided part of the kitchen from the living room, Svetlana screeching and bouncing on his lap. They held onto each other for dear life.

        When they saw Quinn go over, the others screamed in surprise. The wind created by Alexandra's supernatural rush across the room blew at their hair.

        "No one can save you!" Alexandra repeated, and swiped at the planchette on the table. A heavy gust of phantom wind blew it and all the papers off the table, into Danica's face. She batted at them with a shocked barrage of yelps. "No one can save you but you!"

        "Ahhh, God, make it stop!" Quinn yelled. He tried to cover his face and Svetlana's at the same time.

        "It won't. _Stop_." Alexandra turned to go, stalking around the table and shaking it violently for good measure before she did. Jodie jumped up from her seat, eyes wide. At that moment, Danica pushed aside the last piece of paper that had blown over her face; Alexandra looked over the table at her. And finally saw her.

        It was her. It was the girl from Alexandra's own painting, the one of the Winchester brothers with their guns. The girl across the table was the girl in the middle of that painting. _For Quinn._

        The Destroyer.

        " _YOU_ ," Alexandra hissed.

        The two women stared each other down across the table, only Danica didn't know it. Everyone tensely waited to see what would happen next. Livid, Alexandra let out a howl as she turned the table over, throwing it at Danica. Then she turned and sped from the room, passing as a phantom through the wall.

        Danica had covered her face and screamed when the table came at her. She took several steps back. The table did not hit her, but laid on its side only inches in front of her now. She looked at it, shocked and panting.

        Jodie spoke first. "What the hell was that?!" she yelled.

        As Svetlana's whimpers began to border on hysterics, Darcy crossed the room, avoiding the table legs, to help Quinn calm her down. When she passed Danica, she craned her neck so she could see her over the upturned table. "I _told_ you so!" Darcy spat.

        Danica rolled her eyes. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

  
it won't stop


	34. Day 34: Descendants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Meredith discuss the curse and how to stop it. Professor McNeal arrives in California, dreading the viewing of what may be the body of his daughter.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 34: Descendants  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 34 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in May 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,155  
 **Summary:** Sam and Meredith discuss the curse and how to stop it. Professor McNeal arrives in California, dreading the viewing of what may be the body of his daughter.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #34 Broken and Coclaim100 Prompt #34 Colors.  
 **Author's Notes:** X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Watching Sam as he dialed the number he'd gotten from directory assistance, Meredith surmised that he must be the tallest guy she'd ever seen. His long legs stretched across the floor from the futon couch on which he was sitting in her dorm room. The hoodie Sam wore made an attempt to hide his build, but Meredith could still tell he worked out _a lot_ ; it was a misleading contrast that he had the build of a weightlifter and the face of a boy. A _sweet_ boy.

        Meredith just sat and listened in while he ordered flowers for some girl named Jasmine Fuller. Sam said it had something to do with the film they'd watched, but she couldn't see how.

        "Yeah, can you just put those in her room? Yes, I know exactly what I want the card to say. Put 'Copy the tape. Sam.' .... Yes, that's correct. .... Oh, I know it's unusual, but it'll make sense to her family. Can you get those made up as soon as possible? .... I know it's very late there... well, put a rush on it for in the morning. .... I have no problem with the fee."

        As he rattled off his credit card information, Meredith stared at him, confused over what he was doing. Copy the tape? She waited for him to finish the call and then immediately started in with the questions. "What did you just do, Sam?"

        He pushed his bangs back off his face with his hands. "The film Dr. Keaner has isn't the only recording like this. There are videotapes too." Leaning forward, Sam asked, "Have you been having nightmares about those girls?"

        "Oh God, yes. Awful ones."

        "Me too." It wasn't a total lie. "In my dreams, I've communicated with some people in Boston who watched one of the other recordings. Jasmine Fuller was hurt by some of these evil girls and she's in the hospital now. So I sent her some flowers. I'm hoping one of the persons I met in my nightmares will read the card."

        "You could always just call her room tomorrow..."

        "Yeah, I'll do that too. Just want to cover all my bases."

        "Why'd you have the card say 'Copy the tape'?"

        Sam broke out in a wide, honest smile. Not able to help it, Meredith grinned back; he had a great smile. "That's something I've figured out. I've done a lot of research on this thing, and I'm positive that the way you escape the curse is by making a copy of the tape."

        Sitting back, she slapped her knee. "You're kidding! You mean all of this could just end as soon as I make a copy of that film?"

        "I'm pretty sure, yeah."

        "But, how do I do that?"

        "There's a machine that will record a film onto videotape. I think that would be sufficient, don't you?" There was that smile again.

        "Oh, wow. We gotta figure out some way to get in his office and make that copy. You know, I think he's got one of those copying things. After he showed me the film, he brought out a little box and hooked it up to his VCR... anyway, if it will make those horrible little girls go away, I'd break in that office myself, right now." Laughing, Meredith sat back on the bottom bunk of the beds she shared with her roomie, tossing her chestnut brown hair over her shoulder. "After we make our copies, what do we do with them? Show them to someone else or something?"

        Sam shook his head. "No! No, no. Do you want to make another person deal with this fuckin' curse?"

        "Well, I'm just thinking aloud... you really think making a copy will get it all to stop?"

        "I'm pretty certain."

        "Why do they want us to make a copy?" asked Meredith.

        "They're hoping it will keep their curse going, as long as there are always fresh copies out there. Videotapes and films deteriorate, you know."

        She nodded. "But we're going to screw 'em, right? By putting our tapes down the garbage disposal?"

        Now Sam laughed. "Something like that. Maybe you should wait 'til your week is up before you mangle it all to hell."

        Meredith chuckled, shaking her head at the same time. "I can't believe any of this is real. But I'm really glad I met you. I wouldn't have known what to do without you coming along."

        For the first time, Sam noticed how she was looking at him, leaning back on her bed with her legs crossed, the top one bobbing playfully. Two conflicting feelings passed through him. One, that he had feelings for Jessica, and two, once a cheater, always a cheater. Better to just keep his mind on saving Meredith for now, yes, that was the important thing. "You said you'd have no problem breaking into Keaner's office right now, huh?"

        "Well, yeah... I said that..."

        He flashed her that boyish grin again. "That can be arranged."

        "What, we just kick the door in? Or can you pick locks?"

        Sam just chuckled mischievously in response. That devilish sound, coupled with the innocent looks, is what put Meredith over the edge. Oh yes, she would sleep with Sam Winchester. In a New York minute.

        As they headed out to Professor Keaner's office, sneaking along the halls, Sam mused that this would be the first paranormal case he'd solve all on his own. Dad or Dean or both of them had always been there in the past, but this time... not this time.

        He thought he had it all figured out.

*****

        The plane had landed in Los Angeles at 9PM Pacific time. By 9:35, Lassiter McNeal was checked into his room at the airport hotel and lying on top of the bedspread, just thinking.

        Tomorrow morning. The police would have him view the dead body tomorrow morning.

        For a moment, he looked at the keychain hanging off his keys. The one Adrianna had made him. When she was ten, she took part in a crafting class run by the city recreational department, where she made him a small rainbow in stained glass. The "stained glass" was little beads of colored plastic that melted together to form the design inside a metal frame. The beads didn't dissolve uniformly, leaving tiny holes here and there. The fact that the keychain was imperfect, coupled with the knowledge that Adrianna loved rainbows, always had, only made Lassiter love it more.

        He had to work hard to hold back the tears that threatened at that thought. There would be time enough for that after he viewed the body.

        Akemi had left him two messages.

        "Professor McNeal, it's Akemi. One of your students has called me, Jodie Searling. She wants me to come over and supervise a séance since she couldn't reach you. You remember, she and her friends watched that tape. I'm going to do it. I watched the tape too, you know, and I'd like to see what they can find out by contacting this spirit. I may call again. Thank you, Sensei. Goodbye."

        "Professor McNeal? McNeal-sensei? It's Akemi again."

        This second message sounded more excited, almost frantic.

        "I wish you would answer your phone. No disrespect, but something happened. The séance was successful. We really contacted something. But it attracted a violent spirit, one we didn't ask for. She screamed in our faces and threw things around, even tipped over the table. We're going through the results of the séance now; I could really use your input, Sensei. Please call back. Thank you."

        Lassiter couldn't deal with it right now. He couldn't act like everything was business as usual when his daughter could be the one lying on that slab tomorrow morning. Found in a dumpster, like a piece of trash.

        He called his home.

        "Hey Dad."

        Lassiter checked his watch. "It's after midnight there; what are you still doing up?"

        "I'm almost done with my homework. I was just heading to bed," Tracy explained, a little whine in his voice. "Why'd you call so late if you didn't think I'd be up?"

        Lassiter had to laugh. "Okay, you got me. Um, I'll be talking to the police in the morning."

        An awkward pause. "Okay."

        "Has Akemi called the house?"

        "Mm-hm."

        "Alright, if she calls again, tell her that she needs to deal with the situation herself. I trust her judgment. If she wants to learn more about the occult aspects of my career, there's no better study than field study." Sighing, he added, "It's not something I can deal with right now."

        "Okay, Dad." Tracy chuckled to himself. "I hope she won't be calling anymore tonight. It's really late."

        "Probably not. Akemi's very concerned with politeness, so I doubt she'll call again."

        Once they'd hung up, Lassiter turned his phone off for the night and laid it on the nightstand. And then his keys... his eyes stole to the rainbow keychain once again.

        On the back, in a child's scrawl with permanent marker, were the words, "Happy Father's Day Daddy, 2000. XOXO, Adrianna."

        No matter how hard he tried, Lassiter could no longer hold back the tears. He hoped tomorrow would bring no more cause for them.

*****

        The door to Sam's dorm room opened and he and Meredith stumbled in, laughing and shushing each other. "We shouldn't be so loud. It's late," she said, a finger to her lips even as she giggled again.

        "I had no idea I was so rusty. I think I broke the lock on Keaner's office," he commented with a roll of his eyes. "Oh well."

        "It doesn't matter. The important thing is, we got 'em." Meredith held up the two videotapes. "You were a wonderful lookout."

        "Why thank you." Truthfully, Sam felt guilty about that. He had insisted on acting as the lookout while she made two copies of the film with Professor Keaner's converter. That was because he hadn't really seen the film, and didn't want to get himself cursed by watching it as she copied it. But what was he worried about? He knew how to save himself from it even if he did see the film.

         _Are you doubting your own conclusions, Sammy?_ the inner Dean voice asked him.

        No. No, he wasn't. There just wasn't any use in purposefully putting this curse on himself, now that he'd saved Meredith's life.

        "Here's yours." She handed Sam his tape before sitting in his desk chair. "So how do you know so much about these girls and the curse anyway?"

        "Well... when I started having the nightmares, I asked around and stumbled upon these books about an artist named Alexandra Baptiste." Sam picked up one of the books from his desk, opening it. "She painted all of these girls in the late 1700's. See?" He showed her one of the paintings of Suzette and Sophia.

        "The late 1700's? How'd she do that?" Meredith asked, looking up at him.

        "She had to be psychic or something. You know? Precognitive."

        "Holy shit. I guess she would." She flipped a couple of pages to look at more paintings. Sam just handed her the book and crossed the room, leaning against Gerald's desk.

        "Baptiste said that the Metternichs were her descendants. That's why she got so involved in their lives."

        "Oh yeah, like that one thing in the film."

        "Yeah." Sam had no idea what she was talking about, so he fished for information. "The part near the beginning?"

        "No, it was more near the middle. The part where the Nazi guy was painting?" Meredith's face lit up with recognition. "Hey, here it is!" She turned the book around to show him one of Baptiste's paintings. "He was reproducing this one, remember?"

        Sam pretended to examine it closely. "Oh, yeah. I remember that now."

        "It all makes a lot more sense, now that I know about this artist. Hey..." Getting up, Meredith walked over to Sam and nudged his arm. "That's how you figured it out, isn't it? The Nazi was reproducing the painting to end the curse over him, just like we reproduced the film."

        "Yup. That told me a lot."

        "You're so smart." She remained standing, trying to brush his body with hers, but only casually. "Can I hang around here a little longer, read some of this?"

        "Sure. Gerald already told me he won't be back tonight. He's sleeping over at a friend's house." Suddenly, he realized how suspicious all that sounded, like he was suggesting they could do something since they were alone. "We don't, you know, have to worry about anyone interrupting us. I mean, that no one will be annoyed with you being here so late."

        Meredith had to laugh, lowering her head and then tossing her hair back when she looked up again. "You're very cute when you're all awkward like that."

        "Uh, yeah, so I've been told." Sam felt like he had to explain something. But why? So he had feelings for Jessica. Did it matter?

        Did it matter to Jessica?

        "It's true."

        He saw the way she was smiling at him. Time to change the subject. "Why did Keaner show you the film?"

        The smile faded slightly. "Uh, he was tutoring me in History. I've been having trouble with World War II and I asked him for help. He told me the film would be really helpful."

        "Why would Keaner do that? Do you know... why he'd want to _kill_ you?"

        Swallowing hard, Meredith sat back down in Sam's chair and ran her hand over her face. It was obvious this subject made her uncomfortable. "Um... is that what the film does? Really?"

        Sam took a pause himself. "It does seem unbelievable, doesn't it? But yeah. I think the curse does really kill people."

        "Wow." She thought about her answer to his question for a long time. "Where are you from, Sam?"

        "Where am I from? Huh." He had to think over his answers as well. "That's a hard one. I've been moved around all my life."

        "Where were you born, then?"

        "Lawrence, Kansas."

        Meredith had to laugh. "Lawrence, Kansas. Well, I'm from New Jersey. A pretty bad neighborhood, really. My parents were so happy when I got accepted to Stanford. It was my chance to get out, you know? So I wouldn't wind up like all my cousins. I already had a baby at sixteen. My daughter, Lizzie. My parents are taking care of her so I can get a college degree and make something of myself. My mom says that my aunt cries every night, thinking about her girls, married with babies by eighteen. One's a stripper, another's getting beat by one of her baby daddies all the time. My parents don't want that for me."

        "I'm sorry," Sam replied.

        "Nothing for you to be sorry about." She chuckled. "I bet there's not a lot of those kinds of stories in Lawrence, Kansas."

        "I wouldn't know."

        After another pause, she continued. "I'm only in my second semester and I'm already having trouble. My grades are decent, but some subjects... I'm really struggling. Like History. Really, _really_ struggling. Sometimes I feel like I'm in completely over my head here."

        "That's why Keaner was tutoring you."

        "Yup. But he eventually showed me that he has a special way of tutoring..."

        Shocked, Sam let out a sigh, shaking his head. He didn't think stuff like that went on at a school like Stanford. "What happened?"

        "Keaner told me that if I... performed certain favors for him... he would fix my grades, and talk to some of the other professors to make sure I pass this semester. So I... took him up on his offer." Meredith looked at him, trying to read his reaction. "I can't disappoint my parents."

        "You did it for Lizzie," Sam added. He knew a little something about doing the extreme for the sake of your family.

        She almost sighed with relief. "Yeah, that's right. But maybe someone found out. Maybe Keaner has other girls, and one of them threatened to tell on 'im. If he was trying to actually kill me by showing me this film, then maybe that's the reason."

        "Because you could tell on him too."

        "Yeah. Except I never would have. I've got too much to lose."

        Slowly pacing the room, Sam considered what to do. "We've got to shut this guy down somehow. He can't keep putting girls' lives in danger by showing them this film just to clean up his mess."

        "I'm the only one he's shown it to."

        "How do you know that?"

        "Have you heard rumors on campus about any other girl who's freaking out over a film she saw?"

        She had a point there, maybe.

        "Besides..." Meredith stood up again, going to the backpack she'd taken with them to their clandestine errand. When she reached in the bag and took out the reel of film, Sam's face lit up with amusement and more than a little relief. "...how's he gonna show it to anyone else when I've got it?"

        "Oh, Meredith... you're awesome." They both laughed with mischief. "Why didn't you tell me you took it?"

        "I wanted to surprise you."

        "Well, that's all well and good... but what if he's made copies?"

        All she could do is shrug. "What do you want to do, then?"

        "I don't know yet." A hand to his mouth, Sam walked the room. "But I'll think of something."

        While he thought about it in silence, Meredith sat down to look through the book some more. She didn't leave him alone with his thoughts very long. "Why did this Baptiste broad have visions of the little girls anyway? Was it because she was related to them?"

        "That probably had something to do with it. Although, I think the fact that her daughter was one of them was the primary reason."

        "Really?" Meredith flipped to the front of the book, where she'd seen a short biography. "Which one?"

        Leaning over her shoulder, Sam pointed to a painting of Sasha with a finger to her lips, shushing them. "Sasha." Then he pointed to her other daughter, who had been depicted in another painting. His stomach turned briefly when he suddenly realized that this woman was the one Alexandra had sculpted lying on her back on a column of fire, who looked, for all intents and purposes, dead. The statue called _Head on a Pike_. "This is her other daughter. She lived long enough to marry and have children, so she's the one who made all those descendants possible."

        "Oh."

        "What was her name, anyway? Do you see it there?"

        "Uh..." Meredith found it, and read it off the page. "Phaedra. Her name was Phaedra."

  
it won't stop


	35. Day 35: Organized Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn, Danica, and the others talk about what happened during the séance. Cheyenne enters her brother's vault without permission and stumbles upon a frightening family secret.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 35: Organized Chaos  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 35 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in May 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 4,007  
 **Summary:** Quinn, Danica, and the others talk about what happened during the séance. Cheyenne enters her brother's vault without permission and stumbles upon a frightening family secret.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #35 Oath and Coclaim100 Prompt #35 Like Oil and Water.  
 **Author's Notes:** X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        For the fifth time since the séance had ended, Akemi checked her cell phone for new messages. There were none. Her hands were shaking. "McNeal-sensei must think it's too late to call. Yes. He'll call in the morning."

        Danica was sitting at the table; they'd turned it upright and gathered all the papers for her to go through. She marveled at all they had found out. "Can you believe this shit?"

        Quinn paced the living room, smoking. He didn't smoke much, usually just after sex or when he was really stressed. Nervous. Shaken. "Don't tell me you're still looking at this like it's cool."

        "It _is_ cool."

        "Oh sure, it's really badass to have a ghost scream in my face and knock me out of my chair."

        "Come on, Quinny. Okay, I get why we're all shaking now, but when this is over, you'll look back and realize - "

        "Would you just come off it?!" Darcy yelled at Danica. "Your little séance wasn't a big success and it was _not_ cool! The prayer at the beginning did nothing; a demon still came in here and scared the crap out of everyone, throwing stuff all over the room..."

        "It's never going to end," sobbed Svetlana from the couch.

        Darcy sat down next to her to comfort her. "You have no idea what sort of fire you're playing with."

        Danica looked from Darcy to Quinn, and then at Jodie, who was leaning against the wall. Jodie just shrugged. "Look," Danica began, "don't come in my brother's apartment and yell at me like that. Because if you're going to do that, you can just leave."

        Darcy rolled her eyes.

        "Second, it was not a demon, it was a ghost. And my prayer at the beginning did what it was supposed to. No one was hurt, no one got possessed or any shit like that. I just need to be more careful with my wording so we don't get anymore drop-in communicators. Yeah, it was pretty intense, but it wasn't _that_ bad. Just some papers thrown around and an overturned table, big deal. I can take it."

        "But you couldn't see the woman, and she didn't scream in your face," protested Quinn. "She was one scary bitch."

        "I'm not denying that this isn't a frightening experience, guys. I'm just saying, it's possible for something to be scary and cool at the same time."

        "Aw, you think you're a ghostbuster or something." Quinn waved a dismissive hand at her.

        Taking advantage of the lull that followed, Jodie asked, "What's a drop-in communicator?"

        "It's a ghost that busts into a séance without being called on," Danica replied. "Like a party crasher."

        "Why couldn't I see her? I watched the tape too," Jodie said, still perplexed with this aspect of the events of the last few days.

        "Well... there must have been something that you did that these three didn't." Danica gestured in the general direction of Quinn, Svetlana, and Akemi.

        Pointing at his sister with his cigarette, Quinn added, "I bet it has something to do with what Baptiste said. She declared that no one could save us but ourselves."

        "'No one can save you but you,'" Akemi said, repeating Alexandra's words.

        "Exactly. So it's something we have to do."

        "Dean said that too," Svetlana reminded him. "He said there was something we had to do. 'Join the ring.'"

        "So, something Jodie did that we didn't..." Quinn paced the room some more, considering what it could be.

        The room got quiet again. Danica sat back down at the table and went through the papers. "I'm going to make a list of what we learned from the séance. Lots of information to sort out. Let me see..." She tapped the pen against her lips, thinking. "Mysteria's real name is Phaedra. She was once alive over 200 years ago."

        "She's Greek," Jodie put in.

        Nodding, Danica wrote it down. "Which makes sense, since she was there when Alexandra Bitch-tiste was alive. She fought against Baptiste's evil somehow... says here that the story was passed down, the methods... 'Ask your grandmother.' What the fuck? Which one?"

        "It's gotta be Grandma Stone," Quinn said. "She's the one who's all witchy with her crystals and Tarot cards and all that."

        Scoffing, Darcy mumbled, "Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire," but Danica still heard her.

        "What is with Christians anyway? You think your methods are so superior and everyone else's are evil."

        "Hey! No more fighting between you two, okay?" Taking another drag off his cigarette, Quinn continued, "You're going to have to find a way to work together. Don't forget, Danica, that Dad was raised Catholic, and Mom's not real religious or anything, and they've been married for twenty-five years. If they can make it work, surely you two can quit ripping each other a new one every five minutes."

        Danica couldn't resist getting one more dig in. "Yeah, Dad was raised Catholic, but he recovered from that."

        Not looking at her, Darcy put up a hand, palm facing Danica. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

        "Good. Anyway, yes, Quinn, you may have something there. I guess we should go see Granny Stone while I'm here. I just hope she won't think we're crazy, asking about a thing like that." Danica pawed through the papers some more. "Ah, and our Mysteria-Phaedra is a spirit guide. To this Sam dude, apparently." She furrowed her brow at a sudden thought. "I wonder if he and Dean are related."

        "Seem they could be, what with Dean bringing him up," Svetlana suggested.

        "You may have a point there. I mean, if Phaedra is Sam's spirit guide... and she keeps trying to get us together with Dean... it makes some sense." Danica suddenly put down the papers in her hand; the action made a loud crumpling sound. "And doesn't that just blow your mind, this spirit who once fought the evil you guys are dealing with being a distant ancestor of ours? I wonder how many generations there are between us."

        "You guys are just going to go to your grandmother and ask her if she's heard this story?" asked Jodie.

        "Yeah, why not? She's cool with that kind of stuff. Hey, you think Phaedra made sure the curse came our way because she knew we could do something about it?"

        "It wouldn't surprise me." Quinn leaned on the table, looking across it at his sister. "Baptiste did look right at you and go, 'YOU!' Like she recognized you."

        This was the first Danica had heard of this; no one had taken the chance to tell her yet. The realization actually seemed to shake her up a bit. "You're pulling my leg."

        "No, he's telling the truth," Akemi said.

        Svetlana also confirmed it with a nod of her head.

        Danica looked at them all like they were crazy, dumbfounded. "Why would she recognize me? The bitch has never seen me before."

        Shrugging, Quinn suggested, "Maybe that's something you should ask Granny about."

        "Damn straight I'm going to ask her. We're getting to the bottom of this." Danica made a few notes about it before going over the séance papers again.

        "Seemed to make her real mad too," Quinn added. "Right after that, she threw the table at you."

        Akemi suddenly craned her head around to look at Danica. "It was almost like she was afraid of you, Danica-san."

        Looking up, she stared at Akemi for a few moments in silence. "Why would..."

        Quinn just smiled. "It's like you said, sis. None of those ghosts or demons better fuck with you."

        At that moment, Danica came upon a particular passage in the session, the part where Phaedra had said, _They don't realize what they are doing. They don't realize what they are setting in motion._ And then the explanation, _Their own destruction._ She stood up sharply, almost knocking over her chair. "Okay, this is freaking me out."

        "You see? It _is_ scary," Quinn teased.

        "What the hell does this shit mean?" Danica paced the room now, following the same track her brother had been taking. He stood by the table and watched her. "Phaedra was talking about how these evil girls are setting something in motion here, bringing about their own destruction. And how we're supposed to go to our grandmother and get the methods, hear the story. It's starting to sound like some kind of fantasy book."

        "Maybe Granny's got a big ol' tape smashing hammer." He pretended to swing it down on an imaginary cursed tape. "Boosh!"

        "Yeah, well, if an owl with an invitation to Hogwarts tries to fly in the window, I'm not home."

        Jodie tried to calm her friend down a little. "You should wait until you actually talk to your grandma before you freak out, don't you think? Maybe it's not as dramatic as it seems." She shrugged.

        "Maybe, but this is still all kinds of fucked up." Making it back around to the table, Danica remained standing as she thumbed through the papers. "I mean, look at this. Here, Phaedra says she has to speak to you guys through dreams because it's safer than when you're awake. Because you're being watched. Tell me that's not some freaky shit."

        "Then... Samara cannot watch us when we're asleep?" Akemi questioned.

        "That can't be. She's been in our dreams."

        Jodie added, "But there's _some_ sort of difference. There's some sort of loss of control on Samara's part. Otherwise..."

        "...she wouldn't try to keep us awake," finished Quinn.

        Everyone thought about that in silence. Darcy finally cut in with, "That makes sense."

        "Phaedra was really risking something by talking to us here tonight," Quinn said. "Who knows how long she's been fighting against these cursed tapes without being caught, hiding behind her... spirit guide name, or whatever you'd call it."

        "Mysteria," Svetlana said absently.

        "I wonder what happens to her now. I hope she'll be okay."

        After some thought, Danica tossed in another theory. "What if Phaedra has been looking for us for years, you know? What if we're really meant to stop this thing? And that's why she risked so much to communicate with us?"

        A beat of silence and then Quinn shuddered all over. "There's no way I'm sleeping tonight."

        "Oh, come on. You guys have barely slept in days," Darcy reminded him. "You need your sleep."

        "Will you be able to sleep tonight, Darcy? What with the table thumping up and down and the wind that swept through here and the table flipping over?" Quinn asked, gesturing to the table with the fingers that held his cigarette. "And you didn't even see the crazy bitch that did it."

        Darcy didn't have a good response to that; she looked down with a shrug.

        "I stay up all night and look up the directories online," Svetlana declared. She had stopped crying, and now her eyes were wide and fearful, like a rabbit cornered by a bobcat. "Look for all the Dean Winchesters."

        His mouth tight, Quinn's brow knitted as he asked, "What are you going to do, Svetlana? Call them all until you find him?"

        The look she gave him said it all.

        That jealous streak reared its head again. "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much that will cost?! Besides, we've got all we need right here." He went over and put an arm around his sister. "You heard Alexandra Bitch-tiste. YOU!"

        "Oh lay off it, Quinn," Danica said, throwing his arm off.

        Svetlana mumbled, "My cell phone have unlimited long distance after 7PM. I not stop until I find him."

        "Holy crap, you really are going to call them all, aren't you?"

        Even Danica sighed. "If she wants to call all the Dean Winchesters in the _world_ , just let her, Quinn. Phaedra was trying to bring him to us anyway, remember?"

        "That's going to sound really good. 'Hi, are you the Dean that's been coming to me in my _dreams?_ Do you happen to own any ghost-exploding shotguns?'"

        "Quinn..."

        "'What do you mean, does my family have a history of mental illness?'"

        To that, Svetlana burst into tears and ran out of the room.

        Quinn just stood there with his mouth open. He hadn't expected that.

        "Oh, good work, Einstein," Danica said sarcastically.

        Darcy just gave him a dirty look and went after her.

        Putting his head down, Quinn started pacing again. "That's not the reaction I was aiming for..."

        "She's just scared, Quinn. Why do you have to give her such a hard time?"

        Before he responded, Quinn picked up one of the drawings of Dean and showed it to his sister again. He kept his voice down. "Do you think I like having my girlfriend search the country for this good-looking, 'phwoar-worthy' guy?"

        "Huh. So it's all about you being jealous," Danica mused.

        Jodie added, "She's not looking for him so she can hook up with him, Quinn."

        "Yeah, I know that," he replied, and added, "but how would it make you feel if our only hope was a chick with big tits and legs that go up to here and Colin and I were endlessly drooling over her?"

        Danica gave it some thought, and was honest. "I would be jealous. But then I'd remember that she could help us solve this thing, and I'd get over it. And then _I'd_ head up the search for the bitch-whore."

        Quinn nodded curtly. "See?"

        "I'd still be looking for her, though, wouldn't I? Besides... I'm not worried about Colin cheating on me." Danica beamed with pride and sass. "I've got _this_." She shoved her diamond engagement ring in front of her brother's face. "This means _a lot_. Volumes. Reams."

        This being a subject that made Quinn uncomfortable, he ran a hand through his hair, taking a puff off his cigarette. "Let's not get into a serious discussion about relationships tonight, okay? I am definitely not up for that."

        "Whatever. I'm just sayin'."

        Jodie tried to change the subject. "I've been thinking it over and I really can't think of a thing that I did differently that would have freed me from the curse."

        "Have you even tried talking to Svet about it, Quinn?" She just wouldn't let it go. "A ring like this can do a lot for a complicated relationship."

        "Oh sure, like I could afford a ring like that."

        Clearing her throat, Jodie attempted to cut in. "Why is it complicated?"

        Danica didn't hear her. "You could always get her a copy of a ring like mine." She giggled mischievously. "I hear they're doing wonders with replica cubic zirconia these days."

        "Haha, very funny - "

        Jodie suddenly cried, "That's IT!"

        Both Danica and Quinn jumped. Akemi, who had been checking her messages again, was frightened by the cry so badly that she tossed her phone up into the air, wide-eyed, and then juggled it a few times in an attempt to catch it. Ultimately, the phone bounced off a couch cushion and thumped to the floor. Everyone was now glaring at Jodie, wondering what she meant.

        "Holy crap, Jodes," Quinn exclaimed. "What's it?"

        "I made a copy!" Jodie said.

        "You... oh, you did. You made a copy of the tape."

        Jodie hopped in place with excitement. She pointed at Quinn. "And you didn't, and my mom didn't, and neither did Svetlana. None of you made copies!" She turned to Akemi, pointing to her. "And you... ohhhh..."

        Akemi said, matter-of-factly, "I made a copy."

        "Yeah... Professor McNeal asked you to make stills of the tape, and put them on a disc. That's probably considered a copy. Although... it's not exactly the same."

        Akemi shrugged. "It's a good theory, Jodie-san. A good possibility. It's not exactly the same as a copy. Stills are not in motion."

        "So..." Quinn put a hand on Jodie's shoulder. "...you think if we make copies too, all of this could just end?"

*****

        Cheyenne knew her brother didn't like her going in his vault when he wasn't around. But the door was wide open, and she wanted to look for something.

        Everything had been quiet in the grand hall when she walked from her side of the house to her brother's. Rowan and their cousin, Tristan, who also served as a personal assistant, were out for the day. The large family painting hanging across from the front door stared down at her; Mother, Father, Brother, and Sister, wearing their finest clothes, expensive jewelry, and fake smiles that hid all the turmoil underneath. Oh, it hadn't always been bad, but Cheyenne had known there were secrets since early in her childhood. It continued to be something festering in the background of daily life.

        Before heading toward her brother's rooms, she moved a bowl of flowers that were sitting too close to the edge of the table in the hall. It seemed like that bowl was always teetering on the edge, for some reason.

        Rosalita had the vault door open while she cleaned the little sitting area inside. When Cheyenne stepped in, the maid was close to finishing up.

        "Good afternoon, Rosalita."

        The woman looked up from polishing an end table with a rag sprayed with Pledge. The scent of lemon hung in the room. "Hello, Miss Bloodworth. Did you enjoy the lunch Cook fixed you?"

        "It was delicious." Cheyenne loitered around, running her fingers over the decorative grooves carved into the frame of the _For Quinn_ painting hanging on the wall. "Did my brother say when he was returning?"

        "No, he did not give a time." Rosalita picked up an ashtray and dusted underneath it.

        Cheyenne, gazing at the back of the vault, noticed that the dark red curtain that hung there had been pulled across, hiding the large screen TV and two small rooms beyond. She knew what was in those rooms, but almost never went in them; they contained Baptiste's statues. The art pieces gave Cheyenne the creeps. "Why is the curtain drawn?" she asked.

        "Mr. Bloodworth did not tell me. He just said he did not want anyone to go snooping back there. So I will respect his wishes." The maid gave Cheyenne a sidelong look. "You know he will be cross with us if he knows you were in here."

        "What's with that, anyway? I own half this art; I should be able to look at it if I want to." Grinning mischievously, Cheyenne walked over and whispered to the maid, "I won't tell him if you don't."

        "Oh, Miss Bloodworth... I don't pretend to understand why your brother is so secretive about his collections, but... if he doesn't want you in his vault, maybe it is better to stay away." Rosalita spoke in a very motherly tone, a tone she was used to, having children of her own who were Cheyenne's age and younger.

        "Rosalita, if he catches me, I'll bear all responsibility, okay? I'll tell him I..." She playfully ran over and hid down behind one of the white suede couches. "I snuck in and hid behind the couch, so you wouldn't know I was in here."

        "But when I leave, I will have to close the door behind me. You know, it locks from both sides when it's closed."

        Cheyenne giggled. "That's okay, I know the passcode to get out." She put up a hand, showing Rosalita her palm. "The system only requires handprint identification to get _in_."

        Sighing, Rosalita gathered up her cleaning supplies. "Maybe if you talked to him, he'd let you look at whatever it is you want to look at."

        "I shouldn't have to ask."

        "I agree, but it is not my place to question him." Her expression a bit weary, Rosalita headed for the door. "Don't spend a long time in here, for me?"

        "I'll hurry. Thanks, Rosalita."

        The door made a loud, metallic rumbling sound when it swung shut, sealing off the vault. Cheyenne immediately went to a small room on the right wall, punched in the passcode, and waited for the door to open before going inside.

        This long, narrow room held all of Alexandra Baptiste's paintings that weren't either in a museum or hung on the outer walls of the vault. They were upright against the wall, stacked against each other, forming row after row of framed paintings. Cheyenne wondered why they weren't rolled up and stored in tubes; Rowan always said he preferred them this way, having them at "arm's length." The rows were covered with individual white sheets to keep most of the dust off of them. She whipped one off and began pawing through the paintings underneath, pulling them forward like cards in a file. The dust she had kicked up made her cough briefly, but she hardly noticed.

        Cheyenne could remember doing this a few times in her childhood. Her father hardly ever let her in here, but when he did, she hadn't been allowed to actually touch the surface of any of the works of art - the oil of the human hand was bad for paint. Just to spite her dead father now, she touched one of the paintings with her index finger, only fleetingly, but it was enough to make her grin like an imp.

        The painting she was looking for had not been reproduced in any of the books about Baptiste. Cheyenne thought it was almost a crime, because it was the most beautiful the artist had ever done. The painting was of two children and their mother standing on a grassy hill overlooking Bridal Veil Falls in Yosemite National Park, a rainbow passing through the falls near where they hit the river below. The mother was shielding her eyes with one hand. Although the little family had their backs to the viewer, Cheyenne recognized them, and had always believed what her parents had told her about the work of art - that the painting was of herself, her brother, and their mother. She didn't think much about what that meant, that the art had been painted over 200 years ago, and how mystifying that was. The only thing she cared about was her emotional connection to this piece, her _A Perfect Day at the Falls_.

        Cheyenne wanted to hang it in her living room. She didn't care what Rowan said, it was going up on her wall.

        So involved in her search, Cheyenne didn't hear the sound of the ashtray moving across the table. She did, however, jump when it slid over the side and shattered on the marble floor. Alarmed, Cheyenne looked through the open door. Her eyes went wide.

        Some sort of misty cloud-form floated around the room. It was grey and white and swirled as it moved with purpose toward one of the couches. As the couch lifted off the ground and slammed back down several times, the cloud-form began to take on a more recognizable shape, that of a woman with long black hair. Cheyenne realized with horror that the woman had no discernable legs, just a cloud of ghost mist that hovered a few inches off the floor.

        When she began to wail in anger, Cheyenne covered her ears, but she could still hear it, and thought that maybe she'd heard this sound in the house before.

        "Roooooowaaaaaaaan!" the spectre cried. "Rowan, I've foooound heeeeeeer! The Destroooooooyeeeeeeeerrrrr!" Alexandra, continuing to indulge her fury, knocked the lamp off the end table. "We must talk! We must talk about your sissssssterrrrrrr!"

  
it won't stop


	36. Day 36: The Curtain's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheyenne listens in as Rowan and Alexandra have a conversation with the Daughters of Heptamera about whether or not they should take the life of Quinn Kirkland.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 36: The Curtain's Edge  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 36 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in May 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,864  
 **Summary:** Cheyenne listens in as Rowan and Alexandra have a conversation with the Daughters of Heptamera about whether or not they should take the life of Quinn Kirkland.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #36 Never and Coclaim100 Prompt #36 Holidays.  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Rekka for translating the Japanese for me!

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Also a x-over with the (1974) TV series "Little House on the Prairie."

  
        Since she was a child, Cheyenne had been convinced that the sprawling mansion in which she lived was haunted. There was the wailing, and the whisps of ghostly smoke moving down the hallway, only half-glimpsed. And then there was the faint singing in the German language, a male voice drifting through the house, for which she could never find a source. Of course, there were the things that had happened in the psychomantium as well...

        Now, Cheyenne knew a little more about those convictions.

        She recognized the ghost of Alexandra from her self-portraits, with the lace hood and the eyes of Cheyenne's own mother. But to actually see her, rampaging through the vault like an angry, spoiled child... Cheyenne's eyes were wide with shock. The red curtains that covered the TV had also been installed on every other wall, so the paintings and extra rooms lined up there could be hidden if need be. Cheyenne took advantage of the ruckus Alexandra was making to reach out, grab hold of the nearest curtain, and pull it closed over the open door of the painting storage room. Then she opened it just a crack, standing in the doorway and peering out, so she could watch what would happen next.

        Within a short time, Cheyenne could hear voices outside the vault door. Alexandra wailed, "Rooooooowaaaaaaaaaan!" again, not caring who may be out there to hear her. She wondered briefly how Rosalita would react; Cheyenne and the maid had spoken about the "ghosts" of this house before, but this - this was different. Loud, and frightening. The door came open and Rowan rushed in, with Tristan behind him. Rosalita was outside, trying to talk her way into the vault as well, but the two men kept her out.

        "But Mr. Bloodworth, there's something you don't understand - "

        "We can handle it, Rosalita." Tristan gently moved her back, then shut the door to the vault. Both men looked at Alexandra with wide, shellshocked eyes.

        "Alexandra, what's the matter?! Someone will hear you!" Rowan cried.

        "Could it be your sister you're worried about?" Alexandra said, her voice shrill with hysteria. "It's about time she did hear me, Rowan. I found her!"

        Rowan had just begun to notice the damage she'd done, pieces of glass and broken lamps littering the floor. "Who? You found who?"

        Alexandra pointed with a thin finger to the painting on the wall. _For Quinn_. Danica with her mirror eyes looked out at them from the ornate frame. "The Destroyer!"

        Unaware of what they were talking about, Cheyenne observed Tristan's mannerisms to see how much he might know. He showed no sign that he did not comprehend what Alexandra meant. So he had been keeping some bizarre truth from her too? What was going on?

        But then, Cheyenne was aware that Tristan knew more than what he seemed to know, wasn't she? Always in the background. The observer. She remembered when their cousin came to live with them. At first, it had just been holiday visits. The child of Aunt Trish, their father's sister, a single mother who enjoyed hopping the globe with her boyfriend, whoever that was at the time. Even after she'd been steady with one man for years, Aunt Trish still insisted on leaving her son with them, saying that he needed a more stable home than she could provide. Cheyenne remembered Christmases, and Thanksgivings, and Easters spent with her blond, handsome cousin, always possessing those striking European features even when he was a boy. The visits had turned into entire summers spent hiking Yosemite with Tristan and her brother, even after Mom had died. Tristan had been the one to teach her how to rock climb, years before the agoraphobia had hit. Eventually, Aunt Trish had just stopped coming to get him, and he had finished his schooling in California.

        Cheyenne remembered the doors to the psychomantium room being flung open and seeing Tristan standing there, his chest and broad shoulders heaving, eyes wide and mouth open in shock in reaction to the screaming of his cousins, and how he had stood up to Bill Bloodworth when he declared that there would be no more experiments in this room, not over his dead body. He'd been only seventeen then.

        But how much did Tristan know about "The Destroyer" and the other cryptic things that Alexandra was saying?

        "What do you mean, you found The Destroyer?" Rowan asked.

        "Her! This girl!" The ghost pointed to the painting again. "She has finally shown her face!"

        "Where'd you see her?"

        "Among the cursed in Boston." Alexandra now indicated the television behind the curtain, referring to the countdowns on its screen.

        "She's been cursed?"

        "No! She and the cursed were conducting a séance to contact Mysteria. It attracted my attention." Her face twisting into a mass of fury, Alexandra finished, "I know who Mysteria is now."

        Rowan and Tristan looked at each other. "You know the identity of Mysteria, too?"

        "Yes. She's been working against us, as you know. Trying to help the cursed, to keep us from reviving the ones that had gone dormant. When she answered the call of the cursed ones, Samara was watching them. And she came to get me."

        Tristan leaned on the back of one of the couches, arms crossed; this struck Cheyenne because of how odd it was for him to stand and address a _ghost_ so casually. How many times had these two stood and talked with Alexandra like this over the years? "Samara saw something special in their contact with Mysteria?"

        "Yes. Mysteria said that the questioners were related to her."

        The two men stared at the ghost, then at each other. "Holy... shit," Rowan exclaimed under his breath. "That means Mysteria was once alive, not just a spirit. She was once human."

        Nodding, Alexandra said, "Mysteria is my daughter, Phaedra."

        Rowan and Tristan again looked at one another, gaping, trying to take it all in. "No wonder she hid her identity from you. That was for, what? Over two hundred years? My God." Rowan, a hand over his mouth, walked the vault, figuring it all out. "We should have known. We should have realized that it was Phaedra who was fighting you and the girls every step of the way." He turned back to Alexandra. "After all... you're the one who killed her."

        A chill swept through Cheyenne's body. Alexandra Baptiste had murdered her own daughter? How awful.

        "Yes. You're right. I should have known. But in the end, I thought all of that had ended when Phaedra died." She let out a long, ghostly sigh. It sounded like wind moving down the length of a pipe. "I didn't think she would go on betraying her own flesh and blood. Not for this long, at any rate."

        "So, if the people holding the séance are related to Phaedra..." Tristan followed the train of thought to its shocking conclusion. "...then they are also related to you."

        "Yes."

        "And to us." He pointed to himself and Rowan.

        "Yes."

        Cheyenne gripped the curtain hiding her face tight in her hand. For the first time, she did not feel pride at being related to a semi-famous painter from the 1700's.

        Alexandra added, "Very distantly, but there is a relation." Obviously shaken, she drew her shawl around her.

        "Then the people who are fated to destroy you and Sasha... and the curse you enacted..."

        Alexandra continued, "...and Suzette and Sophie... and _Cheyenne_... are their own flesh and blood."

        Another intense chill swept up Cheyenne's back, hard enough to make her legs feel wobbly. What did she have to do with what they were discussing? This crazy talk about curses? The passages she had managed to translate from the Grimoire... were they really referring to her?

        "Children of my child... Phaedra's descendants." Again, Alexandra sighed, but this time it came out more as a wail of pain. Of betrayal. "There have been hundreds of years of descendants, but still, our own family fights against us. It will never end."

        Determined, Rowan shook his head. "No. We can find a way to end this prophecy." He gestured toward the painting. "Who are these people who held the séance?"

        "I don't know their names. Only Samara and her sister know that." She looked toward the hidden television. "They are secretive, you know."

        "I know. All of these girls have their own agenda. But maybe..." Rowan went to a cabinet, the one in which he kept his conjuring supplies. It was barred against entry with a strong padlock. "...maybe we can convince them to tell us."

        Rowan, Tristan, and Alexandra were focused on the cabinet, so they did not see what Cheyenne saw as she peered around the red curtain at the other side of the vault. The curtain that hid the television moved, as if someone brushed up against it, and then two girls walked from around the curtain into the main part of the vault. They were both filthy and wet, with their long black hair hiding their faces. Bare feet, white dresses, one clearly older and taller than the other. The older one's dress streaked with blood. She was the one who spoke first. "That won't be necessary," Charlotte said.

        "We're here," Samara added.

        The two girls occasionally faded in and out, like a snowy television picture. They were ghosts, Cheyenne surmised. More ghosts.

        They all turned from the cabinet to see that the girls they wanted to call on had already arrived. Perhaps they'd been listening in the whole time. "Hello, Samara and Charlotte. I'm glad you came," Rowan said. "We need to speak with you."

        "We already know," Samara replied. Ah, so they had been listening. "You found The Destroyer."

        "Samara recognized her as soon as she entered the picture."

        Surprised, Rowan asked, "How long have you known?"

        "All day," the child answered, with no hint of regret at having kept the secret for so many hours.

        "Why didn't you tell us?!" cried Alexandra.

        Charlotte moved behind Samara, putting her hands on her shoulders. "We wanted to watch her for a while first. To understand how such a fragile, mundane girl could ever destroy all of Heptamera's daughters."

        "You wanted to _play_ with her first," Tristan cut in.

        Raising her head a little, Charlotte seemed to be grinning. "Perhaps."

        "We had no idea she could be related to you," added Samara. The sarcastic edge in her voice betrayed the fact that she must be smiling too, mischievously. As much as the daughters of Heptamera worked together, they also worked in their own little circles.

        "I don't think she's as frightening as she's supposed to be. This Destroyer." Charlotte snickered to herself, but they could all hear it.

        "Do not underestimate her. The prophecy came from Heptamera himself," Alexandra reminded them.

        "Fate can be defied," Samara said.

        "That's a very advanced concept for such a little girl," said Tristan. And then, "I mean no disrespect."

        "It's something Charlotte always says," Samara explained. She added nothing in reply to his second comment.

        "Fine. Fine." Moving, no, _floating_ around the couch, Alexandra got closer to the two sisters. "If we are going to defeat this girl before she has the chance to amass her army, then we must come up with a plan."

        "Amass her army," Charlotte repeated, laughing. "She's just a regular girl. Going to college, getting engaged, doing all of the normal things we never got to do. She has no army."

        "It is as I said." Alexandra indicated the painting. "We already know she teams up with the Winchesters. You should not underestimate her."

        Who were the Winchesters, Cheyenne wondered. There was no one named Winchester in that painting, as far as Cheyenne knew.

        "We aren't afraid of them either." A little bit of Samara's face peeked out from behind her hair. She _was_ smiling, like the devil. "Are you?"

        Lowering her head, Alexandra sighed quietly, moving back around the couch. "What I am afraid of is fate. If this girl accomplishes what destiny says she can, then you will also have reason to run for cover."

        Charlotte began to laugh again, mocking her words.

        Rowan tried to approach it from another angle. "I understand that you two aren't frightened of The Destroyer. I fully respect that. But my sister could be in danger here. Just tell me this girl's name and let me handle it how I see fit."

        Again, she was brought up. Cheyenne wanted to whip the curtain aside and demand that they all explain to her what they were talking about, but she would listen a bit longer first.

        "You're so dramatic, Rowan," laughed Charlotte. "I'm sure if Alexandra just hangs around their apartment a bit longer, she can get the girl's name herself. But I'll tell you anyway. The Destroyer's name is Danica Kirkland. She had not been cursed, although it may be only a matter of time before she watches the tape. Danica knows several of the people who did watch it; that's why they performed the séance. Mysteria has appeared in several of their dreams in an attempt to help them, so they wanted to contact her." She added, "One of the cursed ones is Danica Kirkland's brother."

        Everyone reeled, except for Cheyenne, who had no idea what this meant. "One of the boys you cursed is the brother of The Destroyer?"

        "You catch on fast."

        "Then you have to remove the curse on him," Rowan demanded. "This must be what pisses her off enough to come after all of you. You can't kill The Destroyer's brother!"

        "You don't tell us what to do," Samara replied, her voice full of venom. She sounded like a cross between a defiant child and a hissing snake.

        Alexandra pleaded with them, "But surely, you must see the wheel turning! This is what starts our destruction! It has to be!"

        "I see nothing! If we back away now, it will only show weakness!" Charlotte declared. "If Samara removes this curse, Danica Kirkland will think we are afraid of her. Besides, just about every one of the cursed ones from Boston are associated with this girl. You aren't suggesting that Samara release all of them?"

        Tristan had to admit, "She has a point."

        Now Rowan sighed. "This isn't an easy decision. Either way, we could be shooting off our own foot."

        "What decision? It's already been made." Pretending to think it over, Charlotte added, "We might have considered letting this one go if he wasn't so cute, but Samara and I often trade off. If I see a soul she has collected that I like, I might ask for it, and she does the same. I give her my mother figures and she gives me her pretty boys. We still have that deal in place, don't we, Samara?"

        Samara nodded, giggling.

        "I want this one. I want The Destroyer's brother in my well."

        "Like a trophy," Rowan said, and ran a hand through his hair, a trembling hand.

        "I don't think this is only up to you." Alexandra put her hands together, imploring them, "Please put off your final decision until we hear from the others. This concerns them too."

        Samara looked up at Charlotte. Charlotte nodded. "Okay," Samara replied, shrugging.

        "Do I need...?" Rowan indicated the tools in his cabinet.

        Shaking her head, Charlotte looked toward the drawn curtain on the left side of the vault. "They've been listening the whole time."

        Cheyenne nearly held her breath as the ghosts of several women and girls slinked out from behind the curtains. They were all filthy and wet, their hair covering their faces. One had blonde hair, another red, but the rest, their hair was dark. They moved in an alien manner, like broken dolls, jerking their arms and shoulders in ways that made Cheyenne feel unsettled. When the right curtain jiggled in her hand, she looked down the tunnel of space between the curtain and the wall and gasped at what she saw. A raven-haired ghost girl came toward her. Cheyenne stepped back with a heavy shudder and hid in the storage room until the girl had passed, but not before turning and looking right at her. At least, Cheyenne assumed she was looking at her; it was hard to tell with all that dark hair in her face. After this long, disturbing pause, the girl moved on around the curtain's edge.

        Cheyenne returned to her clandestine position to watch what the girls would do next.

        Rowan addressed the one who looked the oldest, the redhead. "Serena."

        Serena lowered her head in a brief nod.

        He turned to another one. "Scarlett Nancy."

        The blonde girl was short, probably teenaged, and dressed in the same old-fashioned clothes as Serena. The petticoats, the tights, the high-button shoes, hair that had once been done up in ringlet curls but now hung loose, curls almost destroyed. The style of the 1800's.

        "Sadako."

        She craned her head around to look at him now. No verbal response, just a slight head nod. The dress she wore was a little too theatrical to be simply old-fashioned; Cheyenne wondered why she'd been wearing it when she died, if that was the case.

        "And of course, Sasha."

        The smallest girl, the youngest, hovered near Alexandra, a finger in her mouth. She nodded, then took hold of her mother's cloak and hung onto it.

        "Where are the others? Are they coming?"

        "They're busy right now," Charlotte explained, a bit of sarcasm in her tone. "Some just can't be bothered with your frightening little Destroyer."

        Samara giggled. So did Scarlett Nancy.

        "Well..." Unsure, Rowan cleared his throat. "So you heard?"

        The girls nodded to indicate they had been listening in, as Charlotte said.

        "You have a decision to make. And I need you to think long and hard on this, because it could mean your demise. The Destroyer has been found." He pointed to the painting of Danica and the Winchesters. "Her name is Danica Kirkland. Over two hundred years ago, Heptamera prophesized that this girl, with the help of a carefully selected team, would destroy you all. No more afterlife. No more curses. No more revenge for how your lives were unfairly ended before their time. All, gone." Now, he nodded toward Samara to designate that he was talking about her. "She has cursed Danica Kirkland's brother. If nothing is done, he will die Thursday night, after midnight. Some of us think this will be our fatal mistake. The death could incense Danica against not only Samara, but all of you. But Charlotte and Samara think that to show him mercy would be a sign of weakness.

        "They have agreed to listen to your opinions. So, what do you think? Should we show mercy?"

        Sasha looked up at her mother, then back at Rowan, and nodded her head, her first finger still squarely in her mouth.

        "My daughter thinks we should let this girl's brother go. What of you, Scarlett?"

        Scarlett, who had been known by her middle name Nancy for most of her life, shook her head. Her wet curls bobbed loosely against her shoulders. "No. No mercy," she replied, voice intense with anger. "The girl doesn't scare me."

        "Sadako?"

        The Japanese girl spoke in her native language, but they knew her answer from the language of fury her body spoke. "Nasake wa iranaiwa," she said. "Korose."

        "She said no mercy," Tristan told them; he was the only one of them who had visited Japan before. He had learned enough to understand what Sadako had said. "And that he should die."

        Alexandra shuddered openly. The tide was turning. "What about you, Serena? Surely you can see this is madness."

        But not even Serena was on her side. "I'm sorry, Alexandra. It would be a show of weakness. This girl, The Destroyer, needs to understand what she's up against. It would be our way of showing her how dangerous it would be to take us on. Not even her brother is safe." To show she was with the others, Serena added, "No mercy."

        Alexandra lowered her head. "This is madness," she repeated. "I'm going to talk to the others. Maybe they can convince you not to do this thing." She continued, looking up and staring straight at Samara and Charlotte. "There's still time to change your mind."

        "You'd be wasting your breath, Alexandra." Charlotte turned her eye toward the curtain, the one that hid Cheyenne inside the storage room. After a moment, Samara looked that way too. "Don't you want your sister's vote in this too, Rowan?"

        Both he and Cheyenne were startled; she took a step back. "What are you talking about?" Rowan asked.

        "You've kept the truth from her for her entire life as your father did before you, but now that your great Destroyer has shown her face, don't you think it's time she knew?"

        "I did everything I could to show my mommy I loved her. She still rejected me because I wasn't really hers," Samara added. "She said she didn't love me any different than if I was her own blood child. It was a lie. You have no reason to treat your sister like that. You have a blood connection to her, through your mommy."

        "But not your daddy," Charlotte finished.

        Cheyenne gasped. Rowan heard the sound, and looked toward the curtain with a stricken expression. "Cheyenne?"

        Found out, Cheyenne pushed the curtain aside and stepped out of the storage room. The metal rings that held the curtain up made a harsh scraping sound as they moved along the rod; Rowan started in reaction, oversensitive to any noise at this crucial moment. Tristan pounded a fist against his leg. He had never wanted her to find out this way. The two siblings stared at each other, saying nothing for several long moments.

        "What do they mean, Rowan?" Cheyenne asked. Her voice shook with anger and threatening tears.

        Alexandra answered for him. "Heptamera is your father."

        Rowan looked at Charlotte and Samara from across the room. "You... evil... bitches..." he hissed out.

        Charlotte grinned from under her hair. "Did you think she would never know?"

        "GET OUT!" he suddenly yelled. Tristan and Cheyenne jumped, and Sasha cowered against her mother's skirt.

        "Rowan..." Alexandra began.

        He turned to her. "I need to have a conversation with my sister. A private conversation. Only Tristan can stay. The rest of you, leave." Rowan looked at Charlotte and Samara again. "Especially you two."

        Before they disappeared like the picture on a staticy television, both girls giggled. The other Daughters left as well, and finally, Alexandra and Sasha.

        Her eyes wide and searching, Cheyenne shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervous, shocked, panting with the effort of containing her anger. "Is what they said true? Is Dad... really not my father?"

  
it won't stop


	37. Day 37: The End of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The biggest secrets of the Bloodworth family are finally revealed to Cheyenne.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 37: The End of Forever  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 37 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in June 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,553  
 **Summary:** The biggest secrets of the Bloodworth family are finally revealed to Cheyenne.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #37 Forever and Coclaim100 Prompt #37 Champagne.  
 **Author's Notes:** X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Rowan knew this moment would come one day. The moment he had to tell his sister the truth of how she was born.

        He just didn't think it would happen this way, so abruptly, out of nowhere. Forced into it.

        "Chey," he began, "this isn't an easy thing for me to say..."

        "So it's true?"

        Rowan swallowed hard, taking a long pause. "Yes. Yes, it's true. Heptamera bore children of human women, and you are one of them."

        A bewildered look on her face, her fists balled at her sides, Cheyenne went to the curtain and angrily whipped it aside to reveal the painting of Heptamera on the wall. The scaly face of a sea serpent stared back at them. "What the hell are you saying?" She hit the painting with her open palm. "That's a sea creature. A monster. A _myth_. How can I be its child?" Cheyenne smacked herself in the chest. "I'm a human being."

        "Only half human," Tristan said. His voice came out choked; he hated saying these things to her because he had often questioned the possibility himself.

        Rowan tried to explain the things he had read in Alexandra's journal, the things she had told him herself. "Heptamera wanted an heir on land, so he mated with a human woman while she swam in the Mediterranean Sea. That woman was Alexandra Baptiste. Since then, Heptamera has taken to the oceans and mated several more times, producing more children. You are one of them."

        After listening to all this, Cheyenne began to laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. The passages she had read in the Grimoire pointed to this possibility, she had read them herself, but she didn't want to believe it. "You're both crazy. How can you believe this?" She showed them her arms. "Do you see any scales? Is my blood green? Maybe I should go jump in the bathtub and see if I sprout gills; would that make you happy?"

        "Cheyenne, I know it's unbelievable. I hardly believed it myself when Alexandra first told me, but it's true. Haven't you ever wondered where your powers came from? The thing with the photographic plates?"

        "So you have to be a sea serpent to have psychic abilities?"

        "But you can do more." Rowan approached this subject as carefully as possible, knowing that Cheyenne didn't talk about it. "What happened to the doctor during the experiments."

        She leveled a hard look at him. "You want to stop that line of thinking right there, Rowan."

        "What about what happened in the psychomantium that last day?"

        Tristan spoke up again. "Don't do this to her, Rowan."

        "Fine. Fine, Cheyenne. You don't want to face it, don't face it." He made a show of cleaning up the glass on the floor, retrieving a small wastebasket. "I never wanted you to know anyway."

        Cheyenne, for her own part, changed the subject. She went over to the painting _For Quinn_ and stood in front of it. "What was that about this painting? About this girl being The Destroyer, and something about a family named Winchester?"

        Getting on his knees to pick up the pieces of the ashtray, Rowan asked her, "Who do you think those men are, in the painting?"

        Cheyenne touched the painted image of Sam Winchester. "This is our grandfather, Matthias Christaller. Grandma Suzette's husband." Then she touched the image of Dean Winchester. "And this is his brother, Hans."

        "You see, that was another deception," Rowan explained, a bitter laugh escaping him. "That is actually Sam Winchester and his brother, Dean. They just look like our grandfather and his brother, so we let you think they were."

        Cheyenne was dumbfounded. "What?"

        Rowan made that frustrated, bitter sound again. He hated being pushed into this situation. "You know that Matthias Christaller was born in 1930, right?"

        Looking insulted, she responded, "Of course."

        "How old does he look in that painting?"

        Cheyenne looked at Sam Winchester in the work of art. "About 25 or so."

        "Which would make it 1955." Glaring at her inquisitively, Rowan asked, "Does that man in the painting look like he's from 1955?"

        Cheyenne said nothing, examining the painting closely.

        Tristan added, "Look at his clothes. His hairstyle."

        She whirled around at him, snapping, "No, no, of course not. It's all far too modern." Cheyenne looked from one man to the other. "Why do these Winchester men look like our relatives?"

        "Because they are their reincarnations." Standing up, Rowan crossed to the painting. "Sam Winchester is the reincarnation of our grandfather, Matthias Christaller, and his brother Dean the reincarnation of Hans."

        None of this made any sense to her. "Why?"

        "I don't know," Rowan shrugged. He touched the painting, on the girl's skirt. "This girl has been fated to be the one who will destroy all of Heptamera's children. Alexandra predicted it in this painting, but she has never known the year. When Matthias and Hans came along, she was convinced they would be the ones to team up with this girl and kill everyone. But it didn't happen. With the birth of Dean and Sam Winchester, now it makes sense."

        "But... wait a minute... Alexandra said that Grandma Suzette and her sister were two of these children, the daughters of Heptamera."

        "Right."

        She looked up at Sam Winchester, who mirrored her grandfather's features in every way. "Grandpa Matthias loved her. There's no question that he loved our grandmother."

        "Exactly. This painting isn't about him."

        Cheyenne brought up a question that seemed obvious to her. "Then how do we know these are Dean and Sam Winchester?"

        Both Rowan and Tristan gave that some thought, glancing at each other.

        She continued, "Maybe there is some pattern here, but not the one you expect."

        Rowan shook his head. "No, no. I see where you're going with this, I do, but that is Dean and Sam Winchester. I know it because it's no coincidence that we found The Destroyer now. It's coming. The day of reckoning is coming." He smacked the painting on Dean Winchester's side. It made a hollow thumping sound, like cardboard rattling in the wind. "This is why you need to know what's going on, Cheyenne. Maybe I was wrong to keep it from you for so long. But these people are all alive, right now, out there somewhere. It would be very easy for them to come together." Her brother got right in her face, backing her against the wall as he spoke. "You've got to face this thing, Chey, because they're coming. Did you see those ghosts that came in here? They've all been murdered. In each story, someone threw them or chased them into a well and they _died_ down there, Cheyenne. It is fated that this is going to happen to _every_ Daughter fathered by Heptamera. _Every_ one."

        Cheyenne gasped, glaring at her brother with wide eyes.

        "Each one of those girls has come back a bitter, angry, vengeful ghost and she has killed in the name of her grudge. They're all mad, Cheyenne. Completely and utterly mad. And people like the Winchesters and this girl Danica think they are monsters. They _kill_ monsters, Cheyenne." Rowan took her by the shoulders. "If you don't accept this and try to figure out some way to stop it, it will happen to _you_ , too."

        A beat of silence and Cheyenne's face contorted into a twisted mass of anger, shoving him away. She stared at her brother, still breathing hard with the emotional intensity of everything they had discussed. "This is crazy," she repeated.

        Tristan lowered his head in defeat.

        Cheyenne declared, "I will not prepare for things that don't concern me," and left the vault, the door standing open.

        The two men said nothing for several long seconds. "You weren't very subtle," Tristan criticized.

        Shaking his head, Rowan began, "How do you be subtle with - "

        Cheyenne came back in. She didn't say anything to her brother or cousin, marching straight to the storage room and coming out with the painting she'd been looking for, the one of Bridal Veil Falls in Yosemite. The only thing she said to them was, "I'm putting this up in my living room," before flouncing back out of the room.

        Neither man objected; honestly, they wouldn't have told her she couldn't do anything at that moment.

        Rosalita wasn't positive what had happened between the siblings in the last ten minutes. The only thing she was sure of after seeing the look on Miss Bloodworth's face as she marched back out of that vault was that someone had opened a Pandora's box of family secrets in there.

*****

        An hour later, Rowan found a bottle of champagne missing from the rack in the big refrigerator. It was shortly after that he heard the glass breaking in his sister's wing of the house. By the time he and Tristan got there, Cheyenne had locked herself in her rooms and there were several picture frames on the floor in the hallway, knocked carelessly off the wall. The glass from their frames was strewn all over the hardwood. Both men quickly noticed that Cheyenne had targeted only the photos of herself with Bill Bloodworth, the man she had grown up thinking was her father.

        "Let's give her some time," Tristan said. Rowan looked at the floor, but nodded his agreement. "She's had a big shock tonight. She needs some time to digest this."

        As Rosalita had gone home for the night, they set about getting a broom to clean up the glass.

        Inside her locked rooms, Cheyenne picked up the bottle of champagne and took another swig of it while examining the painting she had just hung on the wall over the mantle. She tilted her head. Was it hung straight? It was hard to tell when one was half drunk. Cheyenne decided it wasn't quite straight and went to nudge the bottom right corner just a hair, just a little bit.

        She ignored the ghost hovering close to her fireplace. "I know what you must be going through, Cheyenne," said Alexandra.

        "Don't use that soothing mother hen voice on me," she retorted, nudging the painting. Suddenly thinking of a scene that was in every episode of Scooby Doo, Cheyenne wondered if she should be running the other way, screaming _"A gh-gh-gh-ghooooost!"_ , and that made her snicker.

        Alexandra looked up at the painting. "It doesn't shake you even a little, that I painted that scene over 200 years before it happened?"

        "I try not to think about it." Cheyenne, remembering the many days she spent looking at those beautiful falls, holding her mother's hand, added, "But thank you."

        "You're welcome."

        Cheyenne took a seat on her couch with the bottle of champagne and just gazed up at the painting in silence. Alexandra took advantage of the quiet, trying to get the girl to talk to her. "It must seem unbelievable, that you could be the child of a mythical creature."

        "Really fucking unbelievable, yeah. No less unbelievable than sitting here talking to a ghost, but..."

        Alexandra made no comment on the joke. "For weeks after my encounter with Heptamera, I couldn't believe it either. But you don't have to believe it all at once. Over time, if you think about it, you'll see the signs from the past. They will add up." The ghost moved around the second couch to be a little closer to Cheyenne. "We can prove it to you, you know. Bit by bit, we can help you see that it's true."

        Thinking then of the passages she had read in Alexandra's book, Cheyenne said, "I've been reading your Grimoire. Rowan doesn't know about it because I snuck it out of his room." She took a deep breath before continuing. "Did you write about me in that book?"

        Alexandra nodded. _"There will be a daughter born in the late 20th century who will be named for a tribe of savages, and also cities, and she will see and project things for all to view, like the ones who came before her. Her bloodline has borne and will bear Heptamera several wives, as he savors the return. But the one who pretends to be her mortal father will hurt her, and allow others to hurt her, and study her, and it will make her suffer. One of the outsiders will stir her heart, and the song will stir her anger, and we may lose her to them. He will encourage her to tear it all down, and she will."_ Before finishing the passage, she took a dramatic pause. _"She will bring it all down to spite them."_

        Cheyenne took another deep breath, but this one was audibly shaky. "What does it mean?"

        "We don't know. Yet."

        "Does Heptamera know?"

        Hm. So the girl's interest was growing. "No. He just receives the prophetic words; he does not always know to what they refer."

        "Huh." Cheyenne went back to staring at the painting.

        Not wanting to lose her, Alexandra went on talking. "I don't want you to be frightened by what I'm about to say, but Heptamera is very interested in you and what you may be capable of."

        "Really?" Cheyenne drank from the champagne bottle. When she lowered it, she asked, "And why is that?"

        "Because of all the Daughters of Heptamera who are currently living, you are the purest."

        That revelation was so dumbfounding that Cheyenne could not speak for several seconds. "The... purest? What the hell are you talking about?"

        Alexandra explained it as gently as she could, but there wasn't really a subtle way to go about it. "Your grandmother Suzette was a child of Heptamera. She was half human, half divine serpent. Her child and your mother, Lillian, was born of a human father. Heptamera was unable to coax Suzette Christaller away from her husband and produce another heir. That resulted in your mother being only one-fourth divine serpent."

        "Uh, okay." Cheyenne rolled her eyes. "I'm keeping up so far."

        "Your brother was born from the union of Lillian and her husband, Bill Bloodworth, so he is only one-eighth divine serpent. But you... you were born of Lillian Bloodworth and Heptamera. When you mix someone who is one-fourth divine and a creature that is all divine, you get a child who is five-eighths divine serpent. Roughly sixty-three percent. That is you, Cheyenne."

        Again, she could not speak at first. "What you... you're telling me is... I am more than halfway toward being a seamonster."

        "Divine serpent," Alexandra tried to correct, but in a gentle tone.

        "Pffft." Not looking at her, Cheyenne took a few gulps from the champagne bottle. "You're insane," she said, and hiccuped.

        Alexandra did not respond to the insult; instead, she mused, "If you and Heptamera had a child, it would be more than eighty-one percent divine."

        To that, Cheyenne just laughed. "Like that's ever happening. What are you nutsoes trying to do, inbreed yourselves into a hideous human-seamonster hybrid?"

        "No." Alexandra only smiled at her with a bit of mischief. "Heptamera hopes to breed with his Daughters until he has a mate who is almost one-hundred percent divine."

        Cheyenne laughed again, much harder. "Oh my God, you're crazy! That sounds like something you got out of a cheesy B-movie. The Serpent that Ate Chicago."

        "I understand your skepticism. Maybe one day, you'll feel differently." Watching her take another swig from the bottle, Alexandra thought she must cut to the chase before Cheyenne was so drunk she could no longer comprehend anything she was saying. "As I said, I can prove it to you. You have abilities beyond what we have seen before. The other Daughters have been only half divine. You are more."

        "Yeah, yeah."

        "Well, if you don't believe me, then submit to a test I have devised. Maybe you will prove us all wrong." Alexandra leaned over, closer to her. "What have you got to lose?"

        Squinting her eyes, Cheyenne thought it over, the lip of the champagne bottle only inches from her mouth. "A test? What kind of test?"

        "If what you say is right, then nothing will happen. All you have to do is follow my instructions."

        "Hm." Cheyenne drank from the bottle. "Okay." _Hiccup._ "I'll take your test. Just tell me when."

        "Let me prepare first. I'll let you know when we're ready."

        Raising the bottle in a salute, Cheyenne nodded once and then continued drinking.

        "You really should go easier on that champagne, dear. You'll regret it in the morning." On her way to the door, Alexandra suddenly turned back, leaned down, and said in Cheyenne's ear, "Heptamera really wasn't trying to hurt you that last day in the psychomantium, Cheyenne. He only got a bit overeager to... see what you were capable of."

        The anger seethed in her so hard and so fast that Cheyenne had already launched the champagne bottle at the door before Alexandra had fully left the room. The ghost melted through the door as the bottle shattered against it, spraying champagne out like an exploding firecracker.

        Left alone with her thoughts, Cheyenne allowed herself to think what would happen if this whole Heptamera thing was real. Apparently, the creature wanted his "curse" to go on forever, or at least until he had his "pure" mate, which could take several generations and hundreds of years. Was any of that fair to her and his other Daughters? What say did they have in their own births?

         _He will encourage her to tear it all down, and she will. She will bring it all down to spite them._

        Perhaps her place in this whole thing was to bring forever to an end.

*****

        "Your sister has agreed to my tests."

        Rowan looked up from where he was flipping through the paintings in the storage room, trying to figure out which one his sister had taken. He'd only seen it from the back. "What, Alexandra?"

        The ghost put her hand over his. "She took the one of Bridal Veil Falls."

        Rowan remembered that painting. "Oh."

        "It's now hanging over her fireplace."

        "Well... I guess that one is okay for her to display. It's not like we need it for..."

        "Agreed. Let her have it. It will keep her happy."

        With a nod, Rowan began putting some of the white sheets back over the rows of paintings.

        Tristan had been out in the vault sweeping up glass, but upon hearing Alexandra's voice, came to the door. "What is it, Alexandra?"

        "I came to tell you that I got Cheyenne to agree to my tests."

        Rowan, surprised with this development, blurted, "How did you do that?"

        "I just talked to her." Alexandra smiled. It was a predatory smile, with squinted eyes. "I told her she has abilities beyond compare because she is the purest living Daughter. Cheyenne still will not accept she is a child of Heptamera, so she is interested in proving me wrong. I challenged her. If she doesn't have these amazing abilities, then nothing will happen. If she does..."

        Grinning as well, Tristan finished her thought. "Either way, we win."

        "Yes. And Cheyenne will accept her destiny."

        Tristan caught his cousin's troubled eye; Rowan was clearly disturbed with the various possible outcomes. "I don't want to traumatize my sister. But, if she doesn't accept this... the Winchesters and their team will kill her."

        "This entire ordeal has been traumatizing for all of us. Trust me, Rowan. Your sister will be better off once she realizes that everything she has denied is the truth."

        Again, Tristan grinned. The idea of Cheyenne using her powers against those who would persecute and murder her... he _liked_ that thought.

        "If we're going to do this, then we must prepare," Rowan said with a sigh. "It's your plan, Alexandra. What now?"

        She went to a row of paintings that had not yet been covered and began flipping through them without touching them, miming with her finger just above the paintings while she used the power of her mind to make them move. "I have been preparing for this for a while, Rowan. There are others who have been fated to join The Destroyer and the Winchesters in their quest to end the reign of Heptamera. You know of them."

        Rowan nodded. "Yes."

        "We're going to use this test to take care of more of them, one way or another. Ah, here." Alexandra indicated a painting, hovering her long ghostly finger over it. Tristan stepped into the storage room and pulled the painting out so they could all see it. "I have been working for months to bring us a bargaining chip. They are almost here. And then we'll take another member of this team of _murderers_ out of the running."

        The men looked at the painting. "Ohhh. I see," Rowan said in recognition.

        "It's one of your works that has never been reproduced in any of the books written about you," Tristan stated, a little confused.

        "Exactly." Alexandra snickered and covered her mouth. "So even if they research us, they won't see this coming."

        Everyone looked at the painting. It was a portrait of Lassiter McNeal and his deceased wife, Diane.

        The title was _The Psychic and the Exorcist._

        "One down," Alexandra tittered, "one to go."

  
it won't stop


	38. Day 38: Passing Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang tests Jodie's theory by seeing what kind of dreams they have the night after the séance. They involve an elevator, a giant wave of black water, and a dead innkeeper in a rowboat.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 38: Passing Through  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 38 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in July 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,589  
 **Summary:** The gang tests Jodie's theory by seeing what kind of dreams they have the night after the séance. They involve an elevator, a giant wave of black water, and a dead innkeeper in a rowboat.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #38 Outcast and Coclaim100 Prompt #38 Chocolate.  
 **Author's Notes:** When I did an actual search on the internet for the number of Dean Winchesters in the USA, I came up with a grand total of FOUR. XD As this wouldn't lead to a very interesting search for Svetlana, I upped the number into the hundreds.  
During the scene where Akemi plays Kokkuri-san with her friends, they are actually speaking Japanese. It was hard to convey this in the story, but if there ever was a filmed version of the scene, the characters would be speaking Japanese with English subtitles. :D  
The dream where the characters go running around the college with the elevator and such is loosely based on an actual dream I had.

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.**

  
        Quinn, turning over, propped his head up with his pillow and looked to see if Svetlana's eyes were open. They were; she stared at the ceiling, worry in her eyes. "Are you really going to call all the Dean Winchesters in the country?" he asked quietly.

        She nodded at him in the dark.

        "How many did you find during your 'net search?"

        "I tell you, one-hundred-seventy-eight."

        Quinn scoffed. "And you're really going to call them all?"

        "If I have to."

        "Exactly how are you going to approach that?"

        Svetlana rolled her eyes. "I say hello, is Dean Winchester there, and then I listen to his voice to see if he sound like same person from my dream. If he does, I say this is Svetlana. Do you remember me? If he right Dean Winchester, he know who I am."

        "Well..." He had to admit it. "...that's actually not such a bad way to handle it."

        "Humph. I'm not crazy." She turned over, facing him with her back.

        With a sigh, Quinn said, "I'm sorry I made fun of you, Svet. But you gotta admit, it's kinda weird to call all those guys..."

        "If it save our lives, then it's worth it." Svetlana gave his shin a light kick with her heel. "Now go to sleep."

        He looked at the black shapes on his desk. Two thin, rectangular boxes, the copies of the cursed tape they had made, stacked crookedly on top of each other. "We don't need anybody to save our lives. We copied the tape." Now heaving a relieved sigh, Quinn put his arms under his head and stretched, grinning. "There shouldn't be anymore nightmares."

        "Maybe Jodie wrong. We should be sure."

        "Mmmm," he hummed, stretching again. "Yeah, yeah." And he settled in for what he knew would be his first really good night's sleep of the week.

        They had asked Akemi to stay over, just for one night. Although they looked at her as an expert, she didn't feel like one, but agreed to stay over anyway just incase there was some sort of post-séance backlash. Jodie had given up her bed to Danica and Akemi, while Darcy opted to just go back to the dorm. As Jodie slept on the couch, Akemi got her side of the bed, next to a bedside table.

        Akemi's copy of the tape sat on that table. She kept looking at it in the dark as Danica breathed deeply, lost in sleep almost as soon as she lay down, the jetlag finally hitting her. Although Akemi wanted to believe in Jodie's theory, she couldn't help but be afraid.

        Then she remembered the baku. Akemi tried to be as quiet as possible as she retrieved her purse from the side of the bed, dug around in it, and brought out a little statuette attached to a keychain. Made of resin painted white, it looked like a strange creature with an elephant-like, furry head; a lion's tail; and the paws of a tiger. She had known of the mythological Japanese beast called the baku since she was a little girl; legend said that it would eat one's bad dreams if one asked it to.

        Putting the figure on the bedside table, Akemi whispered, "Baku, eat my bad dreams," and settled down into her pillow, feeling a bit silly. Better safe than sorry, as the Americans always said.

        Earlier in the night, she had spoken of Kokkuri-san to the group, that's all it was. That's why she was now dreaming about the strangest encounter she'd ever had while playing the game back in Japan, when she was fourteen.

        Yuki wanted to play it all the time, it seemed. Akemi remembered sitting on the opposite side of the square table by her mother's antique couch, her fingertip barely on the coin with Yuki's plump fingertip against hers and Mariko's on the other side, forming a Y. The window nearby was open even though it was raining; players of Kokkuri-san were supposed to do that to give the spirit a way to enter and leave the house.

        The first question, by custom, was to ask the date of your death. Or maybe that was just the way teenagers did it, Akemi couldn't remember.

        "Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san," Yuki began, "what is the date of my death?"

        The yen piece began to move. It gave Yuki a date far off in the future, in the year 2064.

        "Aw, who wants to live to be that old?" she responded.

        Mariko shook her head. "I can't ask this question. It's too creepy." Her face looked little and scared, like a child, when she said it.

        "You chicken. I'll ask, then." The girls put their fingers back on the coin.

        The older Akemi took a seat in a nearby chair. These girls of her memory didn't seem to be able to perceive her there, watching.

        "Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san, what is the date of Mariko's death?"

        The board gave them a date in the year 2057.

        "Almost as long as you," Mariko said, smiling and breathing a sigh of relief.

        Akemi wasn't going to be chicken. She remembered how determined she was at the time to prove she wasn't afraid of this game, after refusing to watch a scary movie only a week before at a classmate's party. How some of the boys had teased her! If she showed no fear here, Yuki would probably tell everyone at school, and then her reputation would improve. Akemi didn't like being thought of as a frightened little girl, like Mariko.

        She raised her chin and placed her finger on the coin. "Come on. Let's go again." With a gleam in her eye, Akemi finished, "I need Kokkuri-san to tell me when I'm going to die."

        "Oh, Akemi, you're so brave," Mariko remarked.

        Akemi just smiled, feeling satisfied. "Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san, what is the date of my death?"

        The board replied March 20, 2004.

        Yuki and Mariko let out stunned, girlish cries. "Oh my God! That's only eight years away!"

        Although she wanted to scream and run aimlessly around the room, Akemi had kept her cool. "Oh well. Everyone has to go sometime."

        The older Akemi barely heard her counterparts squealing and telling young Akemi of how brave she was, for she realized at that moment that the board had predicted she would die on Saturday. This coming Saturday. It was exactly seven days after she'd watched Samara's cursed tape.

        "Okay, now watch this." Clearing her throat, Yuki said, "Kokkuri-san, we ask you to depart."

        Older Akemi's head swam as she stood up, backing into the large window. The curtains blew around her, but they slowly began to calm as the window slid closed on its own. The teenage girls squealed, jumped up, and ran from the room. "Did you see that?!" Mariko yelped on their way out.

        Akemi watched the room fade and change into one of the study areas of the college she attended with several of the others. Her heart pounded. "Oh God... how can this be real? Is that really how it happened? Or am I remembering it wrong?" She clutched the protective charm hanging around her neck. "This is creeping me out. Baku, eat my bad dreams."

        In a nearby classroom, Quinn and Jodie sat cross-legged on the floor with a room full of other students. The white screen that hung over the chalkboard had been pulled down.

        "I hope that means we're going to watch a movie," Quinn commented, pointing to the screen. "I don't even care if it's educational, I just want to watch a movie."

        Jodie giggled. "We're not even in any classes together. What am I doing here?" She looked toward the open door. Something ran by, passing through the hall. It looked like a horse-sized animal that was half elephant, half tiger, maybe, all white. It's tongue lolled out the side of its mouth like a big playful dog, white fluffy hair billowing out from behind its ears. Jodie was stunned. "Did you see that?!"

        "See what?"

        "A big animal just went running by the door."

        "What kind?" Quinn turned around to look too. "Oh shit."

        The ghost of Anna Morgan was floating in the door. Jodie's mouth popped open in shock and dread. The woman looked just as she had in their previous dreams, wearing the old-fashioned black dress she'd died in with the antique cameo around her neck, her feet a foot off the floor. The other students didn't seem to think there was anything strange about this; they just watched her enter the room with detached interest, a couple of them checking their phone messages.

        "I thought you said we'd be okay if we just copied the tape!" Quinn snapped.

        Shrugging defensively, Jodie stammered, "I, I thought you would! I don't know how it works. Maybe... maybe you still have nightmares until your seven days are up. Or this is just a regular nightmare and not one sent by Samara." She shrugged again.

        Anna was hovering in front of the screen now. "Class, we're going to watch a movie today, but first you must be ready to take some notes."

        The other members of the class dutifully took out their pens and paper and got ready to write.

        Leaning over to Jodie, Quinn whispered, "Do you have any paper?" out the side of his mouth.

        She shook her head at him. "Where's my purse? I don't even have a pen."

        Anna glared at them for a moment before beginning to rattle off some notes. "First, you must know that Mysteria cannot save you."

        The class all wrote in perfect unison, taking down this note.

        "The Winchesters cannot save you either."

        The class took this down too.

        "There's a reason why I'm dressed this way. My daughter and I were going to appear in a play about life in the Victorian era, and we were practicing our lines when she pissed me off for the last time. I lost my mind at that moment. It wasn't a long trip, let me tell you."

        The students labored to get it all down.

        "When Samara went out to stand at the well, I snuck up behind her and wrapped a garbage bag around her head. She wouldn't stop struggling, so I bashed her in the head with a stone and threw her into the well," Anna explained.

        One of the students raised her hand. "Was she dead when you threw her in?" the girl asked.

        "No, it took seven days for her to die."

        "Seven... days..." a boy said as he wrote it down.

        Quinn and Jodie just looked at each other in horror.

        "Everyone, because these two students in the front aren't taking any notes, everyone has to read an extra chapter in the textbook tonight." Anna glared at Quinn and Jodie again.

        The class moaned; they started throwing wadded up paper at the two in the front, who ducked and covered their heads.

        "Now put away your papers and your cell phones - it's time for the movie." Floating toward the back of the room, Anna switched on the projector and started the film.

        Quinn and Jodie recognized it instantly. It was Samara's cursed tape.

        "You can't show this to a whole classroom full of people!" Quinn cried, jumping up. As he moved to the back of the room, Jodie got up and followed him. "It'll kill 'em!"

        When he reached for the switch to turn off the projector, Anna grabbed him by the arm and violently threw him into the windows by the classroom door. Quinn broke one of them with his back, then flopped limply to the floor. Jodie let out a scream.

        "Mind your own business," Anna said, and turned back to the projector, ignoring him.

        Jodie went to help Quinn up. "Are you okay?"

        He got to his feet with a wince. "Where'd she get the kung-fu moves all of a sudden?"

        "Let's just avoid her. I don't think we have any control over this nightmare." She pulled Quinn toward the door.

        "Yeah. This being a school dream, we're probably lucky we aren't naked."

        On their way out the door, Anna dropped one more cryptic comment. "It's every man for himself."

        "Yeah, okay, you crazy bitch."

        The students brought out their pens and wrote that one down anywhere they could, on their hands, desks, or each other's arms. "Every... man... for himself..." the one boy said as he wrote.

        Quinn and Jodie ran down the hall, away from the room. Anna leaned out the doorway. "You'd do it, wouldn't you?" she called.

        They found Akemi in the study area, petting the large animal. When she saw them, the delighted smile on her face dimmed a bit, as was her reserved nature. "Quinn-san, Jodie-san..."

        "What the hell is that?!" Quinn asked, indicating the animal. He looked at Quinn with his big lolly tongue and suddenly rubbed his furry head against Quinn's arm. Quinn backed up a step.

        "It's a baku," Akemi explained. "A creature of Japanese legend that eats bad dreams."

        "Well tell him to start chowing down!" After an experimental rub of the baku's head, Quinn began petting him, scratching behind one of his ears. The baku tapped one of his back feet eagerly.

        "I'm not sure it works that way in this case; we seem to be trapped in here. But Baku-san will get us out. Won't you?" Akemi rubbed his head.

        "Where's Svetlana?" Quinn looked around for her. He spotted a set of stairs nearby. One flight led down to a landing, and another led up to the floor above them. Quinn noticed that there was black water dripping from the floor above down onto the stairs, so profusely that it had practically flooded them. He tentatively walked close enough to peer down onto the landing. There was so much water running down the stairs that a rowboat floated there, idling back and forth and occasionally bumping into the railings. A man laid face down in the boat; his skin looked grey. Several playing cards floated in the water around the boat and a few more were scattered around his body. Quinn had no idea what this meant, but Rachel Keller would.

        He looked to his left at an information desk to one side of the stairs. The woman behind the desk had the black water dripping all over her, but she didn't seem to notice it at all. Instead, she read a magazine, looking bored, and ate from a box of chocolate donuts.

        Quinn backed toward the others. "This is a really weird school," he remarked.

        "Look, the elevator's opening!" Jodie cried.

        When the door opened, a bunch of people crowded out, including a young Anna Morgan pushing Samara in a baby carriage. Quinn wanted to find Svetlana; he knew she had to be here somewhere, so he ran into the elevator. Before Jodie, Akemi, or Baku-san could get on, the elevator door slid closed.

        "Hey!" Quinn yelled, seeing their surprised faces as the door shut. He tried pressing the Open Door button, but it didn't seem to be working. The elevator began to go up. "Shit."

        The lights above him flickered with an electric buzzing noise. As he looked up, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was a vending machine in the elevator that definitely hadn't been there when he got in. Quinn's head snapped in that direction. "Who puts a vending machine in an elevator?" he said out loud.

        With a groan, he saw that the machine was full of nothing but black videotapes.

        He hadn't put any money in it, but the tapes began to pour out of the vending machine anyway. The arms that held them back started twisting and turning out of the way all at once and the tapes dropped loudly into the tray where Quinn could retrieve them if he wanted to, but of course, he didn't. They overloaded the tray so quickly that tapes fell out onto the floor of the elevator; they piled up and slid across the linoleum to stop at Quinn's feet. He let out a whine, kicking them away.

        The elevator stopped at the seventh floor. Before the door slid open, Quinn noticed that all of the tapes had a sticker on the longest end.

        A sticker that said "COPY."

        He had no idea why, but he felt something click in his head. Quinn gathered up as many tapes as he could carry. It was like having the answer on the tip of one's tongue, but never being able to retrieve it.

        When the door opened, he stepped out into a food court area of the college. Svetlana was sitting at a nearby table.

        "Svet!" Quinn ran up, spilling the tapes on the table. "What is this doing here? I don't even think any of the buildings on campus have seven floors."

        "That's nice." She ignored him, licking chocolate fudge off her fingers.

        Quinn realized that the table before her was covered with various types of treats, some of the cartons empty like Svetlana had eaten them. She was currently scarfing down a chocolate sundae. Her mouth had a ring of chocolate around it. "That looks good. Where'd you get that?"

        "Over there." She pointed with her spoon in the direction of a little ice cream parlor, then licked the spoon and moaned contentedly.

        "Why are you up here making a pig of yourself?" he asked. This wasn't like her. "I mean, I know you enjoy a treat now and then, but..." Quinn picked up a few of the empty cartons, showing them to her.

        Svetlana shrugged. "What difference it make if I overeat? I'm gonna die anyway."

        "What do you mean?" Quinn held up one of the tapes. "We made copies."

        "I don't think that did it. We wouldn't be having this dream if it worked." She licked the chocolate from her mouth.

        Not knowing why, Quinn tried to hand one of the tapes to Svetlana. She backhanded it out of his hand. "That not good enough!"

        "Then what?"

        They both froze when a rumbling roar came from somewhere else on the floor. No one seemed to notice it but them. "What was that?" Svetlana whispered.

        She sprang up from the table when the roar sounded again, followed by the sound of ocean waves coming toward them. Quinn suddenly noticed that Anna was right there, hovering near the table. He shrank away from her. He and Svetlana moved toward the elevator.

        The ghost picked up one of the videotapes and held it out to Quinn. "You'd do it, wouldn't you?" she repeated.

        Shaking his head, Quinn replied, "I don't know what you mean."

        Anna looked at him with her weary, haunted eyes. "They were all outcasts, you know. Heptamera's Daughters. The other kids could tell they were different, and they were afraid of them." She sighed heavily. "We still suffer for it. All of us."

        Quinn pulled Svetlana toward the elevator. "Let's get away from here."

        Anna added, "His Daughters will never stop until they've made us all outcasts too." Then the room erupted with the sound of a shotgun blast, and Anna Morgan flew apart like a windswept mist.

        Holding the gun at arm's length, Dean Winchester surveyed the room. "Come on," he said to Quinn and Svetlana. "Something's coming."

        "Dean!" she cried, and ran up to him. "You're coming to save us, aren't you?"

        Quinn watched, rolling his eyes.

        He didn't answer her question directly; instead, Dean directed them to the elevator. "The stairs already seem to be flooded. We'll take our chances with the elevator. Some big bad son of a bitch is back there and it's coming this way." He pointed toward a hallway behind him with the shotgun.

        Nodding dutifully, Svetlana ran into the open elevator and waited for the others. "Come on!" she yelled at her boyfriend.

        Dean and Quinn stared at each other, one not knowing why the other gave him such displeased looks. "Go," Dean commanded, poking Quinn with the shotgun.

        One last dirty look and Quinn started to turn, but something he spotted over Dean's shoulder made his eyes widen in horror. Dean had to look.

        A huge wave of black water was coming down the hallway toward them. It seemed to move in slow motion.

        "Holy shit! In the elevator!" Dean yelled.

        Quinn didn't have to be told this time; he sped through the open door, hitting the back of the elevator and turning around with a heavy, panicked breath. Dean was in and slapping the button for the bottom floor in a second. The door was just starting to close as the wave came closer and closer.

        "Go! Go!" Svetlana screamed at the elevator.

        The door closed a bare second before the wave hit it. They could all hear the black water slamming and crashing into the closed door, and the elevator began to go down, but not without loud squeals of protest. The lights in the elevator flickered again. Svetlana, clutching Quinn's shirt in her fists, screamed in fright. He couldn't help but do some screaming of his own.

        And then the water began to seep in around the door. At first, in streams, but within seconds, came in like buckets of dark liquid death.

        Under his breath, Dean said, "Fuck."

  
it won't stop


	39. Day 39: Baku, Eat my Bad Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the other dreamers meet the real Heptamera. Meredith calls Sam because she is being followed by a ghostly china cabinet.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 39: Baku, Eat my Bad Dreams  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 39 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in July 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,388  
 **Summary:** Dean and the other dreamers meet the real Heptamera. Meredith calls Sam because she is being followed by a ghostly china cabinet.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. Drug use.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #39 Eternal and Coclaim100 Prompt #39 Choice.  
 **Author's Notes:** X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Brady/OFC.

  
        The water coming in around the door of the elevator was going to fill it quicker than they could reach the first floor, it seemed, as the little light that indicated what floor they had reached lit up so infrequently that Dean started to wonder if the elevator was moving at all. He looked up at the ceiling. "Do you see a door we could use to climb on top of the elevator?"

        "That won't help! The water's all around us!" Quinn yelled. The dark water was now up to their ankles; Quinn let Svetlana climb up on him, bracing her other foot against the vending machine to keep her out of the water as long as possible.

        "I can't swim!" she cried to Dean.

        He ran a hand over his face. "Oh, great." Dean smacked the side of the elevator. "Come on, let's move it!"

        Within twenty seconds, the water was up to their knees. It was rushing in like a torrent now. Black videotapes floated all around them. "What's with the tapes?" Dean asked, speaking loud enough to be heard over the rushing water.

        "They're cursed!" Svetlana said. "That's what you save us from!"

        Dean just stared at her a moment. "What?!" Videotapes? Cursed? _Huh?_

        Before he could say anymore, the water started to rush in even faster. Svetlana screamed. Quinn backed up against her to give her more body to climb up on; he was practically giving her a piggieback ride.

        "We can't stay in here," Dean said. "Even if we climb up on the vending machine, this thing is going to fill up like a water tank. We gotta get these doors open." Standing right in the flow of the water, he tried to pry the elevator doors apart. It made Dean stumble and turn his head away, water rushing in his face, but he kept at it.

        "Is that a good idea? The water will just come in faster!" Quinn said in protest. The black water had reached their waists.

        "At least we'll be at a floor or between floors and can get out of this elevator," Dean replied. He looked up at the floor indicator; they were at the third floor now.

        "Svet, I gotta help him. You hold onto the vending machine, okay?"

        "Okay!" She grabbed onto the top of the machine, wrapping one arm around its corner. The water level was so high that she could tread it at this point.

        Quinn went to the doors and tried to pry them open too. "Maybe we should ram 'em with the vending machine!"

        Taking one last look at the floor indicator, Dean saw it flash over to "1," and there came a "Ding" just before the doors opened. The water rushed in full force.

        Svetlana screamed out, jagged and panicked, just before she went under.

        Just after they were all swallowed up, the water rushed back out the open doors into the lobby area. All three went sliding out with the waves. Dean and Quinn found themselves lying on the wet carpet, panting and soaked to the skin. "Fuckin' hell," Dean moaned.

        Quinn turned over. "Svetlana? Svetlana, where are you?"

        She poked her head up over the side of the vending machine, which was lying on its front in the middle of the floor. "I'm okay," she said, and flopped over the back of the machine.

        Dean watched, dumbfounded, as a rowboat with what appeared to be a dead guy in it floated bumpily by him on the five or so inches of water now submerging the lobby. He sat up, a playing card stuck to his chest. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

        Jodie, Akemi, and Baku-san came running, and splashing, down the stairs. "You guys okay?" Jodie called, then had to fumble for the railing as she almost slipped and fell.

        The loud roar of the monster that had been following them came rumbling out of the elevator shaft. Quinn was just getting to his feet when the elevator was crushed flat and the creature that had done it began to draw itself out of the shaft. Everyone let out a scream, except Dean; he just cussed out loud again.

        "It's a dragon!" Akemi screeched.

        The monster did indeed look a bit like a dragon, or some sort of long extinct dinosaur. His body was long and serpentine, between two and three feet in diameter and covered with green scales. The body was supported by four feet, three toes each, the toes ending in sharp white claws. Pointed fins lined his back all the way down his long tapered tail, giving him a spine similar to a stegosaurus. The beast moved his head as he looked from one person to another. The face, covered in scales, jutted out in a dragon-like snout full of sharp teeth and was outlined with a lizard's frill behind the pointed ears. A black, forked tongue snaked out of his mouth to wet his snout. The frill brushed the raised ceiling; he was nearly twenty feet tall when measured from the floor to the top of his head.

        The monster's eyes were a piercing gold with ebony, thin pupils, much like a cat. They glistened, glittering marbles.

        As the others got to their feet, the beast's voice invaded their minds. "I am Heptameradaimon," he said telepathically. "Most of you have heard of me."

        Dean put a hand to his temple, massaging it with two fingers. "We're gonna need a bigger boat," he quipped.

        "I thought you might want to get a look at the father of those girls; the reapers of my eternal vengeance; my lovely, glorious daughters. Some of you may see me again."

        The baku turned and growled at Heptamera, adopting a stance of impending battle.

        Heptamera laid back his ears. The corners of his mouth turned up in what could only be an amused smirk. He took a few steps forward on his big clawed feet, body undulating sinuously. "Do you want to fight?"

        The baku let out a roar that sounded like a cross between an elephant's cry and a tiger's growl.

        "Baku, eat my bad dreams!" Akemi shouted.

        Heptamera chuckled. "Come on, then."

        The baku charged the daimon and they met in the middle, teeth gnashing. A second later and they were rolling across the wet floor; the fight produced such loud crashing sounds that Jodie and Svetlana cried out and covered their ears against it. Quinn fell when the floor shook under everyone's feet, but he hardly noticed because he was watching the battle in awe. Was that thing real?

        Dean grabbed Quinn by the arm and pulled him up off his behind. "Get out of here. Everyone get outside!"

        The command brought them out of their stunned state and they all piled out the front doors into the street just as Heptamera's body crashed into the back wall. Debris buried the spot where they had just been.

        "Baku-san! Baku-san will rip him apart!" Akemi said, her voice full of hope.

        "God, what is that thing? Is it real?" Quinn asked no one in particular.

        Svetlana screamed and backed up at every crash from inside the building. She wrung her hands together in front of her chest, her breath coming out in hysterical gasps.

        Akemi turned and looked across from the college campus, not really knowing why. She spotted a little shop with a flag mounted next to the door. The shop was called Nihongo Curios. Akemi had never been there; she came from Japan, what did she need with a Japanese shop in America? But now, she could feel it pulling her in. _Go_ , a voice said. _Soon._

        Pointing at his face, Jodie said to Dean, "Your nose is bleeding."

        He started to reach up to wipe it away, but at that moment, Heptamera and the baku smashed through the front glass doors of the campus building.

        Everyone screamed and scattered. Several of them hid behind a cement enclosure with low walls that held outdoor plants and trees. They peeked from behind it to see what would happen next.

        Although Heptamera did have a few injuries on his face and body, it was obvious he had the upper hand. As they watched, he held the baku's mouth open with his claws and simply began to press down on both sides of the creature's jaw.

        "No!" Akemi yelled. "No, don't!"

        Everyone winced at the sickening snapping sound that followed. The baku twitched and then lay motionless, its jaws hanging slack, askew.

        "Baku-san!" Akemi screamed with anguish.

        Dean sighed, lowering his head, fists clenched.

        Heptamera stepped over the baku. "You see... I cannot be killed. I am eternal."

        A fresh drop of blood running from his nose, Dean walked out from behind the cement wall. "Everything can be killed. Even a big fish like you."

        Heptamera smirked again. He regarded Dean with amusement and wonder. "You... you will be involved in killing me? What are you but a puny little human. I do not fear you. No matter what you or anyone in your family may think, I do not fear you. Now, I will give you a choice. Turn back, or suffer. You have been against me for more than one lifetime, and I have grown weary of it. So... turn back now. Or suffer."

        Dean heard the regretful weeping of the pretty Japanese girl behind him, the glass crunching under the beast's feet, the ragged breathing from the blonde girl whom he thought might be Russian. This monster spoke of him like it knew him, but it didn't. It didn't know Dean Winchester at all if it actually thought he would turn back from a challenge.

        With his own devil-may-care smirk, Dean raised his shotgun. "Everyone suffers," he said, and shot the beast in the face.

        All those who had been in the dream awakened then, most with a gasp and a jerk that shook the bed.

        Akemi immediately looked at the bedside table where the baku keychain had been, but it was on the floor now instead. Broken into several pieces. Her face was wet with tears that had already been shed.

        Quinn charged into the living room and turned on the light. Wincing and covering her eyes, Jodie sleepily sat up on the couch. "You were wrong," he said. His hands were shaking. "We made copies of the tape and we're still having those nightmares."

        "Quinn, quit busting my chops," Jodie replied, rubbing her eyes. "I don't know exactly how this shit works."

        Svetlana came into the room, padding slowly down the hall. She almost bumped into Danica on her way out of the other bedroom.

        "What's goin' on?" Danica asked, yawning.

        Jodie continued. "Maybe you continue having nightmares until your seven days are up. You'll notice that I haven't been having all the nightmares that you guys have, but I did have this one. That proves this shit is unpredictable. My seven days aren't up either."

        "Did you guys have another bad dream?" Danica questioned.

        "Yes." Quinn sighed heavily.

        An uneasy quiet settled between them. Svetlana broke the silence by mumbling, "I'm calling Dean tomorrow," to herself.

        When Dean snapped awake in bed, he was startled for a second time by his father's voice, coming from the bed next to his. "It's about time you woke up."

        Dean looked over at John Winchester in the dark. The moonlight coming in through the crack between the curtains illuminated enough of his father's face for Dean to tell that he was annoyed by something; his brow was furrowed and his mouth tight. "What's up, Dad?"

        "You've been talking in your sleep for almost a full minute," John replied, putting his arm back under the covers and lying back down. "Woke me up."

        "Sorry. I was having a doozy of a dream." Dean was about to say more, but he realized with growing horror that he was soaking wet. Just like the nightmare, submerged in that dark water. "Dad... something really weird is going on here."

        "What?"

        "I've been having these dreams about all this weird stuff, and a girl... a blonde girl... she's in all of them. I think she's Russian or... European?"

        "Is this the dream about the bikini massage team from Switzerland?" John asked, annoyed, trying to get back to sleep.

        Dean did a double-take at his father, sitting up in bed. "What? No, Dad. This is serious."

        With a sigh, John rubbed at his eyes, propping himself up with his pillow. "Fine. Tell me about the dream." Dean reached for the lamp, and he added, "But leave the light off."

        "Okay." Dean, getting up, hunted for new clothes in the dark. "Here's the first one for you. I'm soaking wet."

        "I thought you outgrew that."

        "Ha, ha. In the dream, I was submerged in water, and now I wake up and I'm all wet. First weird thing. Second, I dreamed of this girl earlier in the week. Some stranger I've never met. Her name was... I don't know, it was weird. Foreign. Sss... Something-lana."

        "You sure it wasn't Suzette?"

        In the middle of changing his underwear, Dean squinted at his father, asking, "Why would you say that?"

        "Because you were crying out her name in your sleep. 'Matthias, you must listen to me. Your wife is dangerous. Suzette is a monster. Suzette is one of them. Matthias, Matthias!' You sounded pretty upset."

        "Really?" Dean put a new T-shirt on over his head. "I don't get it."

        "I don't either." Resigned to the fact that this conversation was going to take a little time, John turned on the light. "Especially since you said it with a German accent."

        Dean shielded his eyes from the glare, looking away from the lamp. "What?" The forest animals on the motel's gaudy wallpaper stared back at him.

        With a nod, John got out of bed. "You better tell me about these dreams in great detail. I think the sirens have gotten to you." He sat at the table in the motel room in which they were staying and picked up a pen and a little pad with the motel's name on it. _The Big Game Motel,_ it said. "That's part of how they work."

        "I don't think this has anything to do with the sirens. But I'll tell you all about the dreams anyway." Sitting on the corner of his bed, Dean began to rattle off every detail he could recall about the nightmares and the girl.

        In the background, his wet clothes hung off the antlers of the moosehead on the wall.

*****

        Sam almost knocked his phone off the scratched up, rickety nightstand by his bed in an effort to get a hold of it in the dark. The sun was still down; who could be calling this late at night? For a moment, Sam wasn't sure it was the same night in which he and Meredith Carroll had broken into Keaner's office; he could still see her with that film in her hands and a shit-eating grin on her face. Maybe he'd slept through the entire day and into night. But once he saw who was calling, he surmised that it must still be the same night, only a few hours later.

        The display on his phone said CALLER ID, MEREDITH CARROLL. 4:27AM.

        "Meredith? What's up?" Sam asked sleepily.

        "Sam? Sam, can you... I'm sorry, I know it's really late, but..." Her voice shook, her tone was halting. "This is really awkward, I'm sorry, I hardly know you, you hardly know - "

        "Meredith, it's okay. Just tell me what's going on."

        "Well, I'm just not sure that copying the film worked. Sam, I'm still seeing things."

        "Seeing things?"

        "I know it's really, really late, but is there any way you can, um, come back over here? Please?" If he could see her, Sam would know that she was currently pacing the TV room on the third floor, where she lived. Her roommate, Tabby, sat on one of the couches with her legs crossed under her indian style, watching Meredith and shaking her head. She passed a lit joint to the boy sitting on the couch next to her, someone Sam knew, someone who also watched Meredith and shook his head at her odd behavior. Neither one understood what she had to be so nervous about.

        "Oh, Meredith, I don't know... it's 4:30 in the morning," Sam replied.

        Her voice instantly became near hysterical, shaking with impending tears. "Sam, please, please, you're the only one who knows what I'm going through! No matter where I go, it follows me everywhere! I'm afraid I'm still cursed!" Meredith bit at the dead skin at the corner of one of her fingernails.

        "It follows you everywhere? What follows you everywhere?"

        "The china cabinet!"

        She expected him to know what she was talking about. The china cabinet? It must be an image on the film. "The one from the film?"

        "Yeah. It was just suddenly there, in our dorm room. I tried to get away from it, but it followed me to the bathroom and to the TV room, too."

        "It fit in the bathroom?"

        "Sam, don't be a smartass! You know how big those communal bathrooms are. It was outside the stalls; I could hardly get out." Looking at her roommate, Meredith added, "No one can see it but me. No one can see this goddamn china cabinet but me!"

        Sighing, Sam threw his covers back and started to get out of bed. "Okay, I'm going to get dressed and head over there."

        "Why is it here, Sam?" Meredith chewed at the skin around her nail again. "What's going to happen?"

        "I don't know, but we'll figure it out, okay?" As he switched on the light, he added, "Don't be scared."

        "You try not being scared. You got any furniture following you around?"

        Sam stifled a chuckle. "Can't say that I do."

        "Smartass." Without knowing it, Meredith gave him some of the information that he needed to keep up his charade that he had actually watched the film. "That little girl was trapped inside it. Banging on the doors of the china cabinet. How am I supposed to not be spooked by that? You saw her face."

        "You shoulda just turned over and gone to sleep. Ignored it."

        Meredith, rolling her eyes and scoffing into the phone, snapped, "Have you or have you not been dealing with this thing the last week?"

        "Okay, okay, I'm on my way."

        The china cabinet suddenly moved a few inches across the hardwood floor for no other reason than to remind Meredith that it was still there. The wheezy scraping sound startled her so bad that she jumped and stumbled a foot across the floor, squealing. "Shit, goddamn! It moved!"

        "Where'd it - "

        "Just hurry and get over here, please! Quick, Sam!"

        The hysteria was back in her voice, and just when he thought he'd calmed her down a bit. "I'm just about to leave."

        Tabby took a long drag off the joint. "She's completely freaking out." She watched Meredith, panting with fear and staring at the empty space in front of the big window, and then handed the rolled cigarette to her companion. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to. It's really late."

        Brady ran his fingers through her long, wavy black hair. "That's okay. I kinda want to see how this ends up." He also wanted to know if the "Sam" Meredith had been speaking to was Sam Winchester. His buddy.

        Letting out a brief snicker, Tabby leaned on him. "And they say I should stop doing drugs."

  
it won't stop


	40. Day 40: The Alchemist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Meredith serve witness to one of the most traumatic moments in the lives of the Metternich twins.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 40: The Alchemist  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 40 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in July 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 4,187  
 **Summary:** Sam and Meredith serve witness to one of the most traumatic moments in the lives of the Metternich twins.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. Spoilers for _Supernatural_ episode 5.20 "The Devil You Know." Abuse and attempted murder of children, content concerning the Nazis and concentration camp-like killings, and drug use.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #40 Dance and Coclaim100 Prompt #40 Strangers.  
 **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Nicky for the German patty-cake rhymes!  
I needed a movie that came out in early 2004 to slam, that's the only reason Brady slams _Agent Cody Banks II_. I heard it sucked anyway. ;D

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Brady/OFC, Sam/OFC.

  
        On his way up to Meredith's floor, Sam could already smell the pot all the way into the stairwell. He briefly wondered where it was coming from and who could be smoking it as he came through the doors into the central room of the dormitory floor.

        Meredith, crying with relief, ran to him and hugged Sam around his prominent chest. "God, Sam! I'm so glad you're here."

        He put an arm around her. "It's okay, Meredith. Try to calm down." Honestly, he didn't know if it was okay at all, but it seemed like the thing to say.

        "Hey, Sam! Do you know this girl?" Brady asked.

        He looked ahead and to the right. "Brady? What are you doing here, man?" Sam's friend, Brady, sat on the right couch with a girl he'd never seen before.

        "Tabby and me were on a date and we came back here to this chick freakin' out." Taking a drag off the joint, Brady patted Tabby's shoulder.

        "I'm Meredith's roomie," she added.

        Sam frowned at them both. "How can you smoke that in here? What if the R.A. smells it?"

        "She sleeps like the dead," Tabby laughed. "Nothing wakes her up."

        "Oh... so, you guys are just sitting here, watching Meredith freak out?" Sam asked in disbelief.

        Brady shrugged, chuckling. "She sees a china cabinet where there is none."

        Shaking his head, Sam looked around the room. First, he saw the china cabinet. "Hey wiseguy, I see it too. Maybe you two can't see it 'cause you're too baked."

        Brady and Tabby just laughed again.

        "You see it too... you see it too..." Meredith said, more to herself than anyone else. "Of course you can see it."

        Sam patted her back in a soothing manner. Then he looked around the room some more, and second, spotted the young woman sitting on the couch to the left. She seemed quite out of place there, dressed in a red slinky evening gown that sparkled in the light, so low cut that it was open almost to her navel. Her legs were stretched out on the couch to her side like a cat in repose. The woman's long black hair cascaded down over her shoulders in waves; she ran the fingers of her left hand through the dark tresses and over her cleavage in what could only be a show of seduction. Sam couldn't have mistaken the half-lidded cast of her eyes for anything else.

        The sides of her hair were taken up and rolled in an old-fashioned style, perhaps from the 1940's or 50's. He wondered for a moment if she actually belonged there.

        "Who's this?" Sam questioned, and gestured to the girl.

        Even Meredith looked at him funny. "Who's who?"

        Tabby and Brady began to giggle. They weren't going to be any help.

        "You don't see the girl lying there on the couch?"

        The two partiers giggled harder.

        Meredith shook her head. "You're seeing someone even I can't see."

        Looking down at her, Sam said, "Who are you?"

        The young woman smiled. Her fingers ran provocatively between her breasts again. "You look exactly as you did when you were mine, darling. _Exactly_." The woman's voice held a thick German accent.

        Sam took a step back. "What...?"

        Meredith let out a whimper. This stole his attention from the woman and toward the china cabinet; the scene there had changed significantly.

        The cabinet was now full of fine dishes, with a rectangular table and chairs set in front of it. One of the little girls sat at the table. Sam thought this must be Sophie from the dark shadows under her eyes. The man he had seen in an earlier vision, the Nazi doctor, brought her a bowl of soup and set it in front of her.

        "Eat up, my little Sophia," he said, although when he said it, it was in German. The translating voice that had so often spoken in these instances did its job once again.

        The child began to eat. She slurped up several bites of chicken and noodles while her father watched her with the gaze of a predatory wolf, his hands folded over one another on the table. Why was he looking at her with such rapt attention?

        Sophie made a face. "It tastes a little funny."

        "Hm. What does it taste like?" he asked.

         _Slurp. Slurp._ "A little like almonds."

        Her twin, Suzette, came into the room. The girls were wearing identical dresses, white dresses with a pink ribbon tied around the waist and forming a large bow in the back. The child was dancing around the room, turning like a ballerina, and humming a song.

        "Well, you like almonds," the man reminded his daughter. "Finish it up. You need it to bring back your strength." He stood, going over to his other child. "Ah, my pretty little princess. You are a ballerina today, are you?"

        "Yes, Papa," Suzette replied with a giggle. Her father took her hands and danced her around the room, humming the same song. She went on giggling as her sister ate the soup, making the occasional face of distaste.

        "Holy crap, Sam," Meredith suddenly exclaimed. He looked down at her. "There are _poisons_ that taste like almonds when they're added to food. Her father, her own _father_ , he..."

        "He was poisoning her," the woman in the red dress said.

        Sam heard the anger in her voice. "Are you their mother? Is that who you are?"

        She only laughed. No. No, not their mother.

        "What do you think's happening?" Tabby whispered to Brady.

        The scene changed. When Sam and Meredith looked again, the china cabinet was now empty, stripped of its shelves, the doors laid open; Metternich was making some type of modifications to it. A dark-haired woman approached him. This was no longer the dining room - the floor had changed. Now, Sam and Meredith saw concrete under their shoes. The woman strolled about, a troubled look on her face.

        " _She_ is our mother," the woman on the couch informed him. Sam realized who she was then.

        "You're Suzette," he said. She smiled at him, but not in an innocent manner; she was still trying to be seductive. "You lived your whole life and now that you're dead, you can appear as any age you want."

        "Very good, my love," Suzette replied.

        This took him aback for a moment; he couldn't speak. Finally, he asked, "Why do you keep talking to me like that? With the pet names?"

        With a laugh, Suzette put her head back and gave a sinuous stretch, using the slinky dress to its fullest potential. Sam couldn't help but watch her curves move under the clingy fabric. "Ah, Sam. Your mind does not remember me. But..."

        Mrs. Metternich interrupted her by speaking to the Nazi. "Rudolph, what is that you're doing to my china hutch?"

        "I told you..." He used an electric drill to put in a screw, installing some sort of metal vent in the top of the cabinet. "...I am performing an experiment. I promise you, you will get a new and better hutch. Much larger, with a new punch bowl set as well."

        The mother seemed to be pleased with this news. She clapped her hands and jumped in place a few times. "Ooh, that sounds wonderful. But why do you need to use the hutch in the first place?"

        "I saw a better use for it than holding dishes." Rudolph stepped back, surveying the work he had done so far. "Think of it as my own little pet project."

        "Oh, you and your projects. I don't even want to know what you're doing this time." Mrs. Metternich searched around in her purse for something, and brought out a set of keys. "Are you sure you want the girls to stay here with you for the weekend?"

        "Yes. You go see to your mother. She's waiting for you."

        "Alright. Goodbye, Rudolph." She kissed him on the cheek.

        After Mrs. Metternich had walked off and faded from the scene, Rudolph grinned, smacking the cabinet on the side in satisfaction. "Goodby~ye," he sing-songed.

        "I don't like this," Meredith said, hugging herself to Sam's body again. "Something really bad is about to happen."

        "Try living it," Suzette shot back bitterly.

        Sam looked down at her. "This is where he killed Sophie, isn't it?"

        Leaning forward, adult Suzette froze him in place with a steely gaze. "This was only the beginning."

        "You're seeing Suzette on the couch?" Meredith whispered, as if the ghost wouldn't hear her if she spoke quietly.

        "Yeah. She's appearing to me as an adult, about my age," he responded.

        "Does she know what's about to happen?" She whispered her question again, looking from Sam to the couch, her shoulders tense.

        Leaning forward, Suzette spoke in a quiet voice. "You don't have to whisper," she said with a sarcastic grin.

        Brady snickered.

        Sam looked over at him. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "She said you don't have to whisper," he told Meredith, and then leveled a pronounced stare at his friend. "Brady, you sure you can't see or hear her?" Sam asked, pointing at the other couch.

        Brady straightened up a bit. "Huh? Why would you ask that?"

        "You just... it was like you laughed at something she said."

        Continuing to play dumb, Brady looked at Sam and shrugged. "Musta been something else."

        Sam glared at him for several more moments before the sounds of the Metternich family again stole his attention. Rudolph Metternich practically sauntered into his daughters' room, a wolfish grin on his face. The twins were sitting on the floor cross-legged, facing each other, playing a child's patty-cake game. The sound of their little hands slapping together in rhythm echoed throughout the room.

        As Sam listened to the rhyme they recited, he noticed how deep their concentration was on each other, eyes locked across their clapping hands. Almost as if they were in a trance.

        "Bei Müllers hat's gebrannt -brannt, -brannt, da bin ich hingerannt, -rannt, -rannt. Da kam ein Polizist, -zist, zist, der schrieb mich auf die List, List, List."

        The translating voice spoke a beat behind them; although the rhymes sounded musical in German, they were quite flat when translated. _"There was a fire at the Miller's house, so I ran there. A policeman arrived, and put my name on his list."_ Even so, Sam began to feel a pronounced pressure in his brain the further the girls went with their clapping game.

        "Da rannt ich schnell nach Haus, Haus, Haus, zu meinem Bruder Klaus, Klaus, Klaus."

         _"So I ran back home, to my brother Klaus."_

        Rudolph tried to speak over them. "Girls?"

        "Der Klaus, der lag im Bett, Bett, Bett, bei seiner Frau Elisabeth."

         _"Klaus lay in his bed, next to his wife Elizabeth."_

        "Ow..." Meredith put a hand to her temple, rubbing it with her fingers. "Sam, do you feel that?"

        "Yeah, I do."

        Even Tabby began to react. "Shit, is this pot giving me a headache." She looked up at Meredith and Sam. "Wait... why are you guys getting one too?"

        "Girls, stop that and listen to me," Rudolph was saying.

        The twins continued. "Erster Stock, Zweiter Stock, Dritter Stock, Vierter Stock, Fünfter Stock..."

         _"First floor, second floor, third floor, fourth floor, fifth floor..."_

        Sam found that he absolutely could not look away from the girls' clapping hands. He saw Rudolph Metternich crouch down beside them; the look on his face told Sam and Meredith that he too was mesmerized, almost hypnotized, by the moving hands, the musical chanting voices, but he was trying his damnedest to tear himself away from the power they held. "Girls..."

        "Sechster Stock, Siebter Stock, Achter Stock, Neunter Stock, Zehnter Stock - " They suddenly turned and said right to their father, "- eine Frau im Unterrock!" and broke out in giggles.

        Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he heard them finish the rhyme; after completing their count to the tenth floor, they ended with, _"- a woman in her underskirt!"_ The pressure in his head instantly stopped. Meredith let out a gasping cry as if she'd been holding her breath the whole time.

        "Shit, what was that?" Tabby exclaimed.

        Even Rudolph blinked rapidly, clearing his head, and put on a smile for his giggling daughters.

        A thin rivulet of blood ran from Meredith's nose.

        The only ones who didn't react were Brady and Suzette.

        Eyeing his friend, Sam reached in his pocket to get a tissue for Meredith. "Your nose is bleeding," he said.

        "Oh, that's happened before." She took the offered tissue and put it to her nose.

        His arm draped casually over the back of the couch, Brady tried to cover for the fact that he was the only live person who hadn't gotten a sudden headache. "What did you guys see? And why didn't I see it?"

        "I didn't see anything," Tabby replied. "Just felt this really intense pressure in my head. Did your ghosts do something?"

        "Those little girls... they were playing a patty-cake game. It, it _did something_ ," Meredith tried to explain. "I don't know how to describe it. It was supernatural."

        Suzette was looking at Brady now. "Are you saying you can't see our illusions?" she asked, addressing him directly.

        Taken aback, Sam turned to his friend.

        Brady did not react; it seemed like he couldn't hear her.

        She let out an amused chuckle. "Fine, have it your way."

        "What the hell is that about?" Sam questioned.

        Suzette, looking up at him, smiled and shrugged. "I guess he can't hear me." But something about that smile told him that she thought Brady _should_ be able to hear her.

        Sam began, "Brady, have you seen any weird films or videotapes in the last week? Anything that just kind of sucked and didn't make any sense?"

        Now he shrugged. "Just _Agent Cody Banks 2_."

        Rudolph Metternich interrupted them by beginning to tell his daughters a story. "Your mother has gone off to attend to Grandmama for the weekend, so we'll be on our own, just me and my two girls. What would you like to do first, hm? Do you want to hear a story?"

        "Tell us about the children and the candy house!" little Suzette said, getting on her knees and bouncing up and down.

        "I want to hear a story about a princess!" Sophie added.

        Rudolph pretended to think it over. "Hm. I think I'll tell you about the princess first."

        Suzette stopped bouncing. "Aw."

        "Don't be sad, my little Suzie. You will hear your story next." Standing up, he walked slowly around the girls with his hands clasped behind his back as he began to tell the tale. "Once upon a time, there were two sister princesses from the land of the dark green dragon. This happened so long ago that there weren't even the countries that we know now; the land was separated by where each of these terrible dragons lived and claimed as their land. Back then, there were dragons of every color imaginable, as this was long before men even dreamed of the weapons that would help them conquer the beasts. And you must know, we did conquer them eventually, or you'd see them on every street corner, wouldn't you?"

        The girls giggled.

        "Can you imagine your teacher trying to do her lessons with a dragon hanging around outside the classroom window?"

        They laughed again.

        Rudolph continued. "No, this was the time before warriors cut all the dragons down. These two princesses resided in the kingdom ruled by the dragon that had been alive the longest, a selfish, greedy dragon that couldn't be happy just to stalk around his cave and swim in the sea like the other dragons."

        "Some dragons could swim?" Sophie asked.

        "Yes. Some of them had fins and gills as well as lungs. They spent as much time in the water as they did on land. Most of them left people alone unless the people bothered them first, but not the dark green dragon. He demanded that people worship him and serve him tribute every seven days. If they didn't, he would use his powers against them."

        "Powers?"

        "Yes, powers. And his powers were frightful. He could attack people by putting horribly scary images in their heads, images so frightening that sometimes they scared people to death!" Rudolph said.

        The girls looked at each other and fidgeted like this turn in the story made them uncomfortable. At the same time, Sam and Meredith also glanced at each other. They knew this story, or a version of it, anyway. He was putting his own spin on the story of Heptamera.

        "This dragon also used his powers to entrance anyone he took a fancy to, and lure them into his lair. For years, the king of this land did his best to live in harmony with the dark green dragon, but the dragon's demands became more and more unreasonable. One day, a great magician, an Alchemist, came to the kingdom to set the king straight. He had a magic eyepiece that could see the truth about anyone." Rudolph mimed that he was placing a round eyepiece, like a tiny telescope, up to his eye. "The Alchemist's powers were, in many ways, greater than the dragon's. He could even turn plain ol' lead into gold.

        "The things he saw with his eyepiece revealed to the king just how he had been betrayed. The betrayal went back many, many years." Rudolph crouched down before his daughters again. "The Alchemist turned the eyepiece on the queen and the two princesses, and what he saw enraged the king against the dragon. He had never been so angry in his life. But really, the knowledge he gained that day explained everything he had ever wondered about his family, things that didn't fit, things that never made sense.

        "The magic eyepiece told the king that ten years before, the dragon had lusted for his wife, the queen. Do you know what that means?"

        "Jesus Christ... how could he say that to them?" Meredith wondered aloud.

        "What, what?" asked Tabby. Sam shushed her, which made her roll her eyes in frustration.

        Brady played with her hair. "They'll tell you whenever the story's done," he said quietly.

        The little girls looked at each other, uncomfortable, fidgeting uneasily; they seemed to be trying to decide how truthful they should be. They weren't exactly of that age yet, but, being ten, had some knowledge of what adult words meant. "The dragon wanted to have sex with the queen?" Suzette replied.

        "Yes, that's exactly what it means."

        "How can a dragon have sex with a person?" the girl added.

        "There are ways," Rudolph said. "There are ways."

        "So what did the king do?" Sophie asked.

        "Well, the things that the Alchemist told him made the king very curious about what could have been going on at the castle when he wasn't there. Kings are important people; they can't spend all their time hanging around at home. So he asked the Alchemist to take a look at his wife and children with the magic eyepiece." His eyes intense, angry, Rudolph leaned in, closer to his daughters. "He found the children were not his."

        Suzette and Sophie only stared back, beginning to grow tense at their father's story.

        "As you can imagine, this was very shocking for the king. He didn't want to believe it. The royal doctor was called in to run some tests so the king could be sure it was true. No man wants to believe that his wife has betrayed him and that his children are not his own. In fact, it could be the most painful thing a man could ever deal with." As he continued the story, Rudolph's voice grew more angry and his mouth tight. "The doctor took some samples from each girl and he tested them. The kingdom had such techniques. It was quite curious what he found. Not only were the two girls not his daughters, but... there were _impurities_ in their blood. Things that were strange, that could not be identified."

        "Papa..." Sophie cut in, her voice meek and afraid, "this story you are telling... does it have anything to do with the blood tests you had us take?"

        Rudolph just looked at her for a moment, then he sat back on his heels, thinking over what he wanted to say. "They have spoken to you, haven't they?"

        "Who?"

        He looked one way and then the other. "The beings of Thule."

        "The... what?"

        Grinding his teeth a moment, Rudolph suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Sophie by her upper arms, shaking her. She whimpered and squirmed. "Don't play dumb, girl! I know about the odd results of you and your sister's blood tests! I saw them for myself! The Ancients speak to you, don't they? I've seen their shadows in this house, moving along the wall. What are you? What are you?!" He turned his eye on Suzette. "You are the dominant one. Maybe you will tell me the truth."

        Suzette sprang up and ran from the room, hoping to draw his attention away from her sister. Rudolph pursued her; he was dragging Sophie behind him by the arm. The little girl was crying. Suzette wasn't, though - as Rudolph had said, she was the dominant twin.

        When he grabbed her arm too, Suzette whirled around and stomped on his foot, hard. He cried out and jumped in place. The girl tried to use the distraction to get her sister free of their father, or at least the man they had come to know as their father, but his grip was too strong. In the end, Rudolph caught her as well.

        "If you want to know what we are and what we can do, you should ask your precious 'Alchemist'!" Suzette yelled, trying to yank her arm from his grasp. "He started this whole thing. We never would have known about Thule if not for him. He chose me, you know! He said I was special!"

        "I know exactly what he told you, and I know he's interested in the both of you and what you can do. But you're _impure_ , don't you see that? Your mother won't tell me what she did, oh no, she just hides her face and shakes her head every time I ask her. She won't acknowledge that she did anything at all. I have no idea, no idea, what you are!" Rudolph dragged both girls toward the dorm window, where the china cabinet had been before. "We do not have such sophisticated tests as they do in this made-up kingdom, so I can never prove it for sure, but I am positive that you are not my daughters! The oddities in your blood say you may not even be _fully human!_ "

        The cabinet faded back into view. It had been modified quite a bit. There was now a metal tube running out of the side, as well as a ventilation shaft in the top that ran to the outside, through the wall of the garage. Some sort of white material had been attached all around the edges of the doors, and the cabinet was lined with it, like Metternich was trying to make it airtight when the doors were closed. The windows were uncovered, though, with white lines of weather sealant at the edges of the glass. If someone were to be put inside that cabinet, the people on the outside would be able to see everything that happened to them.

        When the girls saw it, they both began to scream and struggle harder than ever before. Somehow, they knew one or both of them was going in the cabinet.

        Rudolph Metternich only confirmed this for them. "My 'Alchemist,' as you so astutely put it, has given me his blessing to run a test on you. He thinks you will survive it. I am not so sure."

        No matter what the girls had done to her that week, Meredith didn't want to watch this. "Oh, God..."

  
it won't stop


	41. Day 41: Beings of Thule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Meredith serve witness to one of the most traumatic moments in the lives of the Metternich twins. Meredith is pulled into one of their visions, one she cannot escape without Sam's help.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 41: Beings of Thule  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 41 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in July 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 3,633  
 **Summary:** Sam and Meredith serve witness to one of the most traumatic moments in the lives of the Metternich twins. Meredith is pulled into one of their visions, one she cannot escape without Sam's help.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. Spoilers for _Supernatural_ episode 5.20 "The Devil You Know." Abuse and attempted murder of children, content concerning the Nazis and concentration camp-like killings, and drug use.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #41 Fixation and Coclaim100 Prompt #41 Divine.  
 **Author's Notes:** X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Brady/OFC, Sam/OFC.

  
        While Sam and Meredith were watching the Metternichs and the cabinet, adult Suzette had her eyes firmly planted on Brady. Why was he pretending he couldn't see the illusion? She knew he could. And what was his interest in Sam anyway? The reincarnation of her love... maybe she had interests of her own.

        Brady stole a look at Suzette's ghost... and grinned wolfishly. She nodded back. _I see you._

        The two girls beat pointlessly at their father's body. Their small fists made little impact, but it was all they could think to do.

        "No, Papa!" Sophie cried. Her blows were hesitant, because she was still terrified of her father and what he meant to do to them.

        Suzette kept stomping on his foot again; this time, Rudolph didn't seem to notice. The look in his eyes carried such intensity as to be obsession with his plans for them. Finally, he could end this once and for all. Either they were beings of Thule, which would please the Fuehrer, or they were not his children, and he would have his revenge on his wife for the betrayal.

        As he tossed Suzette into a chair, he began to chuckle. The sound became almost mad when he picked up the squirming Sophie and set her into the cabinet, through the open left door.

        "Papa, please, don't hurt me!" Sophie pleaded. When Rudolph started to shut the door, she added, "I love you!"

        He only went on cackling, closing the door.

        Suzette sprang up off the chair and ran up to the cabinet, trying to pull the door open. "No, Papa, no!" Rudolph shoved her down. Picking up an electric drill, he started to screw the door shut. Suzette tried again. Her father grabbed her by the shoulder and tossed her across the room. The little girl hit the floor, sliding several feet, then got back up, limping over as Rudolph put another screw into the door. Sophie, crying, beat against the glass with her open palms in fear.

        "Papa, what are you doing? Stop it!" At this point, Suzette began to cry too.

        Rudolph put down the drill and walked away. Seeing her chance, Suzette tried to pull open the right door, but it was drilled shut too. Something he must've done in preparation for this moment. The child yanked hard on the handles of each door until she collapsed in hysterical tears; her sister begged her to get her out of the cabinet.

        "I can't! I can't open the doors!" Suzette sobbed.

        Rudolph brought out a coil of rope.

        Meredith, now shaking against him, asked Sam, "What's he going to do to her?"

        Dread coming over him, Sam replied, "I'm not sure I even want to know."

        Little Suzette ran at the cabinet with the drill in her hand, letting out an angry cry. She swung the heavy object; the drill came within inches of the door, but Rudolph grabbed Suzette before it could shatter the glass and began to tie her arms behind her back. She screamed and thrashed against him, the drill falling to the floor.

        The chair had been placed several feet from the china hutch, turned toward it so Suzette would have a front row seat. Rudolph now tied the child to the chair with her arms bound behind her back. It was a big, heavy chair; she was unlikely to be able to drag it behind her if she attempted an escape. Suzette's eyes were large and frightened as she watched her father put on rubber gloves, and then a gas mask.

        Sam looked at the adult Suzette. "No... he didn't. He... holy..."

        Tears were just beginning to spill out of her eyes. "No matter how many times I watch this, it never... stops... hurting."

        "Sam? What's he going to do?" The gas mask, the gloves... Meredith put two and two together. "Oh my God, you sick _bastard!_ Sam, we can't stop this, can we? Oh God, he... I can't watch this!" She hid her face in Sam's chest.

        Sam was shaking his head. "What we're seeing here has already happened. We can't stop it."

        "If you could, would you?" Suzette asked. "Would you stop it?"

        While little Suzette struggled and screamed, Rudolph retrieved a gold canister from his workbench.

        Sam nodded as he said, "It doesn't matter what you are. I could never just stand by and watch a man murder a child like that. You were innocent. You weren't responsible for what you were."

        Looking up at him, Suzette smiled. "Just like my Matthias."

        Their attention was stolen back to the cabinet. Rudolph opened the pipe on the side, then took the lid off the canister and fished out a few tiny whitish rocks as quickly as he could. The rocks instantly began to smoke in his fingers. He shoved them into the pipe, closed it, and then put the lid back on the canister. The little smoking pebbles rolled into the cabinet and tumbled next to Sophie's foot. Frightened, she crowded herself against the opposite wall.

        Suzette was crying and screaming at the top of her voice. This only continued as the cabinet filled with gas and her sister began to cough and gag, holding her throat.

        "Quit it! You're hurting her! Stop it!" Suzette yelled. "Hold your breath, Sophie! The rocks will dissolve and then you'll be okay!"

        "Can she hold her breath for twenty minutes?" Rudolph asked through the gas mask. His voice had been muffled, but Suzette understood him; Sam and Meredith understood him too.

        "You're a sick motherfucker!" Meredith growled at him. She had a baby back at home; she didn't know how anyone could do such a thing to any child. "I don't even care what they've put me through the last week; you're a sick motherfucker to do something like that to a little kid. Can you hear me, you perverted limpdick piece of shit? You're the one who made them angry!"

        "What's going on?" Tabby asked, not for the first time. She sounded very frustrated now.

        Sophie banged on the glass, gasping for air; the sound was becoming more frantic and scary by the second.

        "How can you just stand there and watch that?" Meredith asked Rudolph Metternich, who was indeed just standing near the cabinet and watching the 'experiment.' "If you were here right now, I'd kick the shit out of you for doing something so sick to a child. Do you hear me?!"

        Tabby got up off the couch and went over to her, taking Meredith by the shoulders. "Hey, you gotta calm down, Mere. You'll wake everyone on the floor."

        "How can I calm down? This sick motherfucker turned his china cabinet into a _gas chamber_. He's gassing his own kid right in front of me."

        Signaling to Brady, Tabby made motions like she was snuffing out a cigarette. Brady nodded, then put out the joint. If Meredith couldn't calm down, they'd wake up the Resident Assistant. "Well, you gotta try. How do you think Sully's gonna react to this if you wake her?"

        Watching her sister's struggles, Suzette thrashed in the chair, screaming like a wounded animal. "Noooooooo, stop! Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, over and over.

        Meredith couldn't take anymore of this. "I don't care how much noise I make," she said, and ran to the china cabinet.

        Sam watched her for a moment and was surprised to find that the cabinet made solid noises when Meredith banged on it; she yanked at the door handles and it made a sound too, like wood hitting wood. He didn't think they could really save Sophie; this was just another way in which the illusions seemed real. Tabby went over to Meredith to try to calm her down; all she saw was her roommate yanking at the open air, and Sam began to follow, but a sob from the couch distracted him.

        Adult Suzette was sobbing hard now, seeing her twin die again as she had many times before, but only once in real life. He felt sorry for her... almost drawn to her. Sam put out a hand and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry. This never should have happened to you or your sister." It surprised him a little, that he could feel her dark hair under his fingers.

        "It was very painful, watching Sophie suffer like that. Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to be poisoned with cyanide gas?" Suzette put her hand over his, stroked it, and brought it down to her mouth where she could kiss it. Sam shifted and looked around, embarrassed. The others were panicking, and here he was, comforting a ghost. "You are very kind," she said.

        "Thank you. It's just... you were just a little girl. Children are innocent."

        Suzette got to her knees on the couch, using his arm and then his chest for leverage. Sam did not stop her as she crawled up his body. Her arms slid around his neck. Why wasn't he stopping her? Why did he _like_ it? "Yes... you are just like my Matthias."

        "What... who?"

        "Look deeper into the Bloodworth books. You will find his picture." With that, Suzette leaned into him and planted a long, passionate kiss on Sam's mouth. Inside, a voice yelled at him to stop her, but he didn't want to. For a moment, they were the only two people in the room, and he heard old-fashioned waltz music, and saw a ballroom with a huge crystal chandelier. Warm colors on the walls... the orchestra... her fingers playing through the hair on the back of his neck. Were his arms around her? The ghost?!

        When she broke the kiss, Sam breathed, "Don't do that. I don't even know you."

        She smiled like a satisfied cat. "But your body... your _body_ , my love, it remembers me."

        He had almost been completely entrapped in her snares when Meredith let out a sharp, panicked scream.

        Sam's head snapped in her direction. His eyes widened in shock.

        Meredith had been substituted for Sophie. As the girls often did when they tortured one of their cursed ones, they showed the victims exactly what it felt like to be them, a persecuted, tormented daughter of a creature of legend, half-divine, with the frailties and feelings of a human being. Now, Meredith was inside the cabinet, banging on the glass.

        What Tabby saw was her friend on her knees on top of a side table, flailing her hands at nothing and choking for air. When she tried to grab Meredith, something invisible stopped her, like a force field. "What the fuck is going on?!" she yelled at Brady.

        Sam pushed Suzette away from him. "How could you do that?" he said to her. She looked up at him and smirked. "Let her out of there!"

        As he turned to go help Meredith, Suzette twirled her hair around her finger and just watched him, attempting to explain. "Everyone who is cursed must know how it feels to be us. That is the point of this, Sam."

        He looked around for something with which he could break the glass. From inside the cabinet, Meredith tried to scream for him to help her, to hurry, to get her out of there, but it all only came out as choked howls and deep gasps for air.

        "I know you don't understand, Sam," Suzette continued, "but this is our revenge on the world."

        He whirled on her. "If you don't let her out of that cabinet, you are no better than your father!"

        Feeling it was an effective comeback, Suzette replied, "You have forgotten... the Nazi was not really my father."

        Fine. Alright, fine - he was dealing with an illusion, he had to play by its rules. Sam went to pick up the drill.

        "Sam, what's the matter with her? What's going on?!" Tabby cried, grabbing his arm and shaking it.

        He shook her hand off and picked up the drill. Going to the cabinet, Sam brought the heavy tool back, then smashed it into the glass of the left door. The glass only spiderwebbed on his first hit. Bringing the drill back again, he struck the glass a second time, and it shattered, spraying down on the floor at his feet.

         _This is only an illusion,_ Sam thought as Meredith spilled into his arms. He dragged her out, gathering her up and taking her over to the couch. She was breathing heavily, taking in long, shrill breaths. _She wasn't really gassed, it's only an illusion._

        "Why couldn't I hear her?" Tabby was asking, wide-eyed. "When she was up on the table, the sounds she made were muffled, like she was... inside something."

        Brady put his arms around her from behind. She jumped, startled. "Sorry," he said, and added, "Whatever she was seeing, she thinks it really happened."

        "But why was her voice muffled?" Tabby asked again.

        "I don't know how to answer that right now," Sam replied. He lightly smacked Meredith's cheek. "Meredith? Come on, you're okay. It wasn't real."

        Her breathing wasn't improving; Meredith still took long, shrill breaths. It didn't sound good.

        To the right of him, Sam saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The ventilation system in the cabinet had been run, was still humming, and now Rudolph opened the door to remove Sophie's limp body. Only, she wasn't dead. Although blood had run from her ears and nose, the child still took a long, shrill breath, just like the breaths Meredith was taking, as Rudolph collected her in his arms.

        Rudolph looked down at her, stunned. "How can you still be alive?"

        The illusion was broken by a loud voice calling from the hall. "What the hell is going on in here?"

        The R.A., Regina Sullivan, nickname "Sully," came stomping into the room. Her bleach-blonde hair was usually done up in various punk rock hairstyles using enough hairspray to burn up the entire ozone layer, but being that it was the middle of the night, it hung over her shoulders instead in pillow-induced clumps. Her usual spike-covered and plaid getups were absent as well, her pajamas covered by a ratty green robe and gray socks on her feet where there usually were black platform boots. Even in her nightclothes, she was still intimidating.

        Tabby immediately spoke up. "Hey Sully. There's something wrong with Meredith."

        "She's having a panic attack," Sam said, trying to fill in information before they all gave Sully a different story.

        Sully looked down at Meredith and tried to assess her condition. "Do I smell pot in here?"

        "It's got nothing to do with drugs."

        "Should I call an ambulance?"

        Sam didn't know how they would ever explain what happened to Meredith to the doctors at the hospital. "I don't know. Meredith?" He smacked her cheek again, rapidly, several times. Shaking her, Sam said, "Come on, Meredith, it's all over." He held one of her eyes open to see if they were turned up in her head.

        She suddenly began to struggle violently against him, striking out blindly with her arms. Meredith took a deep breath so loud it made them all jump. Then she started to hyperventilate. "Sam! Sam!" she cried between breaths. "It - it - it hurts - to breathe!"

        "Meredith, it's over! It wasn't real!"

        "I'm calling an ambulance," Sully declared.

        "No, no, she'll be okay. I can take care of her." Remembering something that happened years before, Sam gathered Meredith into his arms and carried her toward the hallway. "Where's the bathroom? One with showers?"

        "Here," Sully replied, pointing him in that direction.

        When they were teenagers, Dean had been sprayed in the face with pollen by some sort of supernatural plant life. He started freaking out, unable to breathe, unaware of where he was. Dad had taken him into the bathroom and shocked him back to reality by putting him in a cold shower. Sam hoped it would work for Meredith too.

        The entire way down the hall, Meredith struggled and bucked in his arms. He tried to hold her still, but she socked him good in the nose a couple of times with her flailing hands. Sam just winced; he tried not to react to the pain. Everyone followed him into the bathroom.

        There was a row of showers on the far wall, some with a bathtub too. Sam put Meredith into one of the bathtubs, got a hold of her wrists, and said, "Someone turn on the shower."

        She was still fighting him, gasping for breath, when Sully rotated the knob to somewhere between cold and lukewarm water and turned it on. At the first burst of water on her face, Meredith bucked hard and twisted in Sam's grasp, but he kept a good hold on her wrists. She continued to struggle with him a while longer until the shower began to work, and she looked all around, squinting at the water in her eyes. Her breathing turned to panting; Sam would take it, as it was calmer and far closer to normal than what she'd been doing when he pulled her from the cabinet. He took her face in his hands.

        "Meredith, you're okay. It wasn't real." Sam didn't dare go into anymore detail than that, with Sully standing right there.

        Meredith seemed to finally see him and believe that she hadn't really been gassed; she put her head down on his forearm, just trying to breathe. Sam ran a hand through her damp hair.

        Tabby was standing behind Sam, but Brady had held back, lingering in the doorway. The adult ghost of Suzette sauntered down the hall. Brady glanced at her, folding his arms, and directed his attention back to the others in the bathroom.

        "I know you can see me," she said to him.

        He tried to ignore her.

        "No one is paying any attention to us. You can talk."

        Still, Brady did not respond.

        "What is your interest in Sam Winchester?"

        After he checked to make sure no one was looking at him, Brady spoke to her very quietly. "My boss wants me to keep an eye on him."

        "And who is your boss?"

        Brady chuckled to himself. "Someone you don't want to mess with."

        "Ah. I imagine it's some sort of demon, as that's what you are inside that human shell." Suzette had a giggle of her own. "We are not afraid of demons. Have you heard of Heptamera?"

        Brady looked at her out of the corner of his eye; he seemed a little more interested now. "Isn't he some sort of dragon?" He remembered the story. "Oh, like the story the Nazi was telling."

        "Something like that, except the Nazi left some things out. Heptamera did father the twins of which he was speaking, in real life. My sister Sophie and I. And Heptamera is not just a dragon, but a divine being, a daemon," Suzette explained. "Between a god and a lower being like you."

        Now Brady looked at her full in the face with surprise. He didn't know how Azazel was going to react to that one, but he tried not to show any fear over it. A daemon may or may not be able to trounce a being like Azazel - it could _definitely_ trounce a lower demon like him. "Oh." Brady put on a smile, attempting to be charming. "We mean no disrespect to you and your father."

        "That's better." Suzette, her own arms crossed over her chest now, stepped closer to him. Looming in his personal space. "I will ask again. What is your interest in Sam Winchester?"

        "My boss thinks he could be special. That he may be able to go far."

        Suzette gave a small nod of comprehension. "Hm. Well, whatever you have planned for him, I want you to make sure that he doesn't get hurt." She got up in his face, challenging him. "And whatever it is that your boss is doing, it had better not encroach on my father's territory. Do you hear me?"

        Brady wouldn't let her know if she'd ruffled his feathers with her threats; that would only show weakness. The smile he gave her in return was cocky. "Loud and clear."

        With another brief nod, Suzette turned to go. Brady caught her by the arm, wanting to leave her with a parting comment that would let her know just what kind of being she was dealing with, so she would make no mistake in fucking with him again. "Do you see that girl in there? Tabby?"

        Suzette looked, and nodded.

        "I'm gonna take her back to my room and fuck the shit out of her. Rip that bitch up. Doesn't matter to me if she likes it or not." He looked her up and down. "You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn't be such a bitch if you got laid more often."

        An amused smile came over Suzette's face. "Doesn't anyone make love anymore?" she asked with a snicker, and took her arm back, slinking off down the hall.

        Brady looked down, spotting the little one next to him, the child who had been put in the cabinet. Sophie gazed up at him with her sunken eyes and took his hand, placing something in it. Then she followed her sister down the hall.

        Brady opened his hand. There was an old, rusty key in it. He threw it up into the air and caught it, wondering what the dead bitch was planning for Sam Winchester herself.

  
it won't stop


	42. Day 42: Getting Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's efforts to comfort Meredith after the Metternichs put her through the ringer go further than he intended, but he's not complaining. Suzette isn't too happy with it, though. Sam/OFC

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 42: Getting Somewhere  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 42 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language). THIS CHAPTER IS RATED ADULT 17+ FOR A GRAPHIC SEX SCENE, SAM/OFC.  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in July 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 5,164  
 **Summary:** Sam's efforts to comfort Meredith after the Metternichs put her through the ringer go further than he intended, but he's not complaining. Suzette isn't too happy with it, though.  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series. Graphic sex between Sam and an OFC. Discussion of the abuse and attempted murder of children and Nazi concentration camp-like killings.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #42 Dirty and Coclaim100 Prompt #42 Trapped.  
 **Author's Notes:** There was an episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer had night terrors. This was illustrated by him rolling around on the ground screaming, "Ahhh! Cobras!" as if he was dreaming there were cobras all over him. This is where Brady's joke comes from.

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Brady/OFC, Sam/OFC.

  
        Wrapped in several towels, Meredith was still crying when Sam carried her into her dorm room and put her down on her bed. The others followed them into the room.

        "Shhh now, it's okay. You're alright, Meredith," Sam whispered soothingly.

        "It was awful, Sam. One second, I'm - " Meredith realized that Sully was still there, and abruptly stopped talking. No one wanted to reveal too much about what had happened in front of the R.A.; she'd only think that Meredith was on drugs, that maybe they had all been using drugs to have an experience like that. "I, um... I..."

        Knowing they had to make up some story, Tabby cut in with, "It was sleep paralysis again, Mere."

        Sam instantly latched onto the story; it was a good one. "Yeah, we were talking, and Meredith fell asleep on the couch. Next thing we know, she gets all tense, and it's like she's trying to wake up but she can't."

        "And that's when she started screaming," Tabby finished, speaking right to Sully now.

        Under his breath, Brady muttered, "Ahhh. Cobras," which earned him an elbow to the ribs from Tabby.

        "Yeah..." Meredith took a few seconds to fill in the rest of the details in her head. "I had a nightmare about being attacked and shoved into a gas chamber. This evil Nazi put me in there. I was trapped; I couldn't get out. And he turned on the gas. Have you ever heard of sleep paralysis, Sully?"

        "Uhh, isn't that like where you're partially awake, but your body is still asleep and can't move? And you think whatever you're dreaming about is real?" Sully asked.

        "Yeah. Sometimes I actually see things," Meredith replied. "It's really scary, to think you're awake but you can't move. It's like you're trapped inside your own body."

        "I would think that would be pretty frightening." Sully looked around at the others. "You guys are supposed to be back in your own rooms this time of night. Don't hang around in the common areas after midnight, okay?"

        "Sorry," Brady said. "We won't do it again."

        Sully addressed Meredith then. "You should probably go see a doctor about that sleep paralysis stuff. They might be able to do something to help you."

        Meredith nodded. "Thanks, Sully."

        "I won't make a big deal about it this time." She tapped Brady's arm, then Sam's. "You guys can't be in here this time of night. I need you to go back to your own rooms."

        "Let me just get Meredith settled in and then I'll leave," Sam said. When Sully gave him a dubious look, he added, "Scout's honor."

        Glaring at him a moment longer, Sully finally gave in with a sigh. "Alright. But if I find you here in the morning, I'll bust your ass. You, though..." Sully pointed at Brady and then crooked her thumb over her shoulder, telling him to leave.

        "I know," Brady replied, and put up his hands in surrender. When Sully turned her back to him, he formed his hand into a mock phone, index finger and pinky extended, and put it to his ear. "Call me," he mouthed to Tabby, then waved his hand toward himself to tell her to come on over once they separated for Sully's sake. Tabby nodded and flashed an "Okay" sign.

        Once she'd seen to it that Brady left, Sully pointed at Sam. "Ten minutes," she said.

        "I promise."

        "Great. I hope you feel better, Meredith. I'm going to turn back in."

        They all said their goodnights and waited for the sound of Sully's door closing. Although Tabby also closed the door to the room she shared with Meredith, she still tried to keep her voice down. "Sam, what the hell happened out there? Did you see how Meredith was acting?"

        "I saw most of it..." He didn't want to admit that at the moment that Meredith had gone into the cabinet, he'd been a bit _distracted_.

        "You guys are watching this illusion, whatever, of the guy gassing his daughter, and suddenly it was like Meredith was in a trance. She walks over and gets up on the table, and nothing I say can bring her out of it. Then she starts screaming, but her voice is muffled, and I couldn't get to her. Like a force field was there. That really happened, right?" Tabby looked from Sam to Meredith in disbelief of the words that were coming out of her own mouth. "It's fucking crazy."

        Sam was nodding halfway through her story. "I know it sounds crazy, Tabby. But it was real."

        He started to say more, but Meredith interrupted with, "I'm going to change out of these wet clothes," and got up to change in the closet. While she was in there, Sam explained the curse to Tabby, telling her everything he knew.

        Meredith came out in only a white terrycloth robe. She wasn't in there long, but it was long enough for Tabby to have already received a call from Brady. "This is some fucked up shit, Mere," she began, "but if you stick with this guy, he'll get you through it. He's like some sort of encyclopedia of knowledge on fucked up shit."

        Sam lowered his head and chuckled, a little embarrassed.

        "I know," was Meredith's reply, looking at Sam in almost admiration.

        "Well..." Tabby held up her phone. "Brady called; he wants me to come on over and..."

        "I'll be fine. You go." Meredith smiled, and looked at Sam again.

        Tabby looked from one to the other with a little grin. Seeing that, Sam lowered his head once more.

        When she was gone, Meredith ambled over to her bed, her hands in the pockets of her robe. "All my pajamas are dirty," she mumbled.

        "That's okay." Sam wasn't even sure why he replied that way, but she seemed to be apologizing for what she was wearing. "I told Tabby about the film, and she seems appropriately freaked out enough not to try to see it. But I'd keep it away from her anyway."

        "Yeah. Curiosity kills the cat." Waving her hands up and down while still in the pockets, Meredith searched for something to say that would let him know how much she didn't want to be alone, how much she didn't want him to leave. "Maybe we should burn it."

        "We probably should."

        Nodding, Meredith took a seat on her bed. She gripped the terrycloth tightly in her hands. "I wouldn't want Tabby to go through what I'm going through." By the time Meredith finished that sentence, she had begun crying again.

        Sam looked at her, so small on the bed with her robe scrunched tightly in her fingers, head down and body heaving with sobs, and he wanted to comfort her. "Hey," he began, taking a seat on the bed next to her. Meredith put her arms around his neck and sobbed against his shoulder; he stroked her still wet hair. "It's alright. It'll be alright. Soon, this will all be over."

        "I felt what it was like to be inside that cabinet and it was terrifying, Sam. It hurt so much. The gas - it was like I was really breathing that gas - and I can't imagine what it must have been like to be a _little girl_ and go through something so horrible. All I could think of was Lizzie." She sobbed too hard to speak anymore, for the moment.

        "I can understand why you'd feel that way. These girls are cruel and brutal with their victims, but that doesn't mean they weren't once hurt themselves." He stroked her back. "That's probably why they act the way they do."

        "Why they put me in the cabinet?" Meredith added.

        "Yeah. They want you to know how they felt."

        "Us," she said against his T-shirt.

        "Huh?"

        "They want _us_ to know how they felt."

        He kept forgetting that he was supposed to have watched the film too. "Yeah. Yeah, us."

        Meredith pulled back a little so she could see his face. "Not that I want them to do this shit to you too, but why aren't they targeting you, Sam? I seem to be getting the worst of it," she said, laughing slightly.

        He just shrugged. "I don't know. They seem to be doing different stuff to me, really. You know how I could see Suzette on the couch?"

        "Yeah?"

        "Well, she seemed to be... it was almost like she was _flirting_ with me."

        "Oh, how horrible for you," Meredith deadpanned.

        Sam couldn't help but laugh awkwardly in response. "I know, not so awful, but it was weird, you know? She kept talking to me like I was her boyfriend or something. Mentioned someone named Matthias. That I could find his picture in the books."

        "You didn't bring them with you."

        "No. I'll just have to remember to look when I get back to my room."

        Since it had been brought up, Meredith clung to his neck and pleaded, "Please stay here for the rest of the night, Sam. Please? I know the sun will be up soon, but I'm still really shaken, and I don't want to sleep alone."

        "Do you think Sully will peek her head in here at any time?"

        "No. She's pretty cool, and I've never done anything to make her distrust me."

        "Until now?" he asked, joking.

        That brought a slow smile to her face, even a small chuckle. "Yeah."

        Sam hugged her again. She really was a very likeable girl, sassy, and not so bad to look at either. "Okay. So long as you think we can get away with it without incurring Sully's wrath, I'll stay the night."

        Meredith smiled gratefully.

        Sam wasn't even sure why he got into bed with her. It was just a little twin bed, and it wasn't like they didn't have a futon in the room for guests. The two of them practically overflowed out of that bottom bunk, but Sam could deal with it. He felt protective and responsible for Meredith, not just because she was kinda cute, but because she was his first case to work by himself. He'd lied to her to gain her trust, and now he had to see her through this.

        For her own part, Meredith didn't mind being squished between the wall and Sam's substantial bare chest at all. It wasn't such a tight fit that she couldn't enjoy the feel of him against her. "You more comfortable with your shirt off?"

        "Uh huh."

        Mmm. New York _minute_. "I wonder about a couple of things."

        "What's that?"

        "Well, wasn't the Nazi supposed to be a doctor? Why would he have someone else run the blood tests on his daughters?" Meredith really did wonder about that, but mostly she just wanted to get some small talk going, feel Sam's chest moving under her arm.

        "Probably to get an unbiased opinion. Doctors can't always treat their own families. You know, they're too close."

        "Oh, right. That makes sense."

        They were silent for a moment. Birds were beginning to chirp outside the window. "There's another thing."

        "What?"

        "This is... it's kind of unpleasant. But I can't help but wonder about it." To see if he'd tense up in reaction, Meredith put her head on Sam's shoulder. He did not tense up. "Why did he build a gas chamber out of his wife's china cabinet? I mean, if he wanted to... kill his daughter that way... couldn't he have just taken her to work?"

        Although it seemed wrong, Sam had to laugh a little. Taken his daughter to _work_. "That would give new meaning to Take Your Daughters to Work Day, wouldn't it?" He shook his head at his own black joke. "It's a fair question. But the answer... I think it's simple. And pretty sick."

        "He did it because he _liked_ building the thing himself. Right?"

        "I think so."

        Meredith continued, "The sick bastard enjoyed making his own gas chamber. Like when an artist looks at a block of stone and sees the figure they can carve out, a disturbed little turd like that looks at a china cabinet and sees the tool of death he can make out of it." She huffed out an angry breath. "I bet he got a hard-on while cobbling it together, the sick motherfucker."

        "It probably made it easier for him to control his 'experiment' as well. Doing everything on a smaller scale and all that."

        "Mm." Another moment of silence while they both thought about it. "It's like one of Hitler's twin experiments. Pitting one twin against the other to see just how close their bond is. How could he allow that to happen to his own - " Stopping herself, Meredith paused before finishing. "I guess they weren't his children."

        "But that doesn't make it okay."

        "No. No, it doesn't." A tremble passed through her body, and she moved in closer to Sam, wrapping an arm around him. "Sam, I'm scared. That illusion they showed me, it was really intense, the most intense one yet. I've only got about a day and a half left. What else are they going to make me see?"

        He didn't know. He couldn't know. "I think the best thing we can do is to do more research on the Metternich girls. That'll at least give us some idea." Sam looked down at her, camped out on his shoulder. "You weren't really planning to go to class today, were you?"

        "Not my morning classes. But, at least the night one."

        "Okay then. We do research after we get up."

        "Whenever that will be."

        Sam chuckled. "Yeah, it's almost morning. Damn little girls, keeping us up."

        "What do you think Keaner will do when he finds someone broke into his office? That the film is gone?" Meredith suddenly asked, changing the subject.

        "God... I don't know. Hopefully he won't put out a dragnet or something." Sinking lower into the bed, Sam added, "How could he even figure out it was us?"

        "Yeah, I guess you're right," Meredith sighed. "No one who owned a cursed film would ever think the people he showed it to would figure out what it could do." She looked up into his hazel eyes. "Would he?"

        Sam thought about it for a long time before speaking again; the silence went on so long that Meredith almost asked him what he was thinking so hard about. Finally, he said, "Maybe we better burn that film as soon as we can."

        "I hope you don't get in trouble because I took it."

        That surprised him; he hadn't expected her to say such a thing. Sam was used to taking these kinds of risks. It's what one had to do to fight the supernatural. "It was the right thing to do, Meredith. We're protecting others from that film. I'm glad you took it."

        "Still... I don't want you to get in trouble."

        "Well I don't want you to get in trouble either."

        "People would expect it from me. You're from Lawrence, Kansas, for Christ's sake."

        Sam looked down at her and just laughed. "You're something else, you know that?"

        He was still chuckling when she leaned up and gave him a light kiss on the mouth. His eyes widened, and he froze in surprise. "Be with me tonight, Sam," Meredith whispered. She kissed him again, stronger this time, seeing her chance. "I'm very attracted to you."

        Sam couldn't say that the feeling wasn't at least a bit mutual. Jessica, she was still there, in the back of his mind, but... Meredith was warm against him, smelling good, feeling good, wearing nothing but panties and a terrycloth robe. Maybe she'd been trying to get him to this moment with the lack of clothing, and maybe he'd caught her just before laundry day; at that moment, Sam didn't care. He just wanted to be with her. Without saying a thing, Sam slipped a hand up the side of her head and into her hair, and kissed her back.

        The first thing he wanted to do was get that robe open. As they kissed deeply, he brought his hand down and started to work it open, grasping one side and pulling-pushing at it until he could feel her breast coming out. Meredith made a small noise of arousal when Sam's hand went to her tit, running over the nipple; the robe's belt slid more and more open. He thumbed the nipple until it became hard and sensitive under his attention. Then Sam broke the kiss so he could move his mouth down and take the nipple into the wet warmth of it, sucking on the rigid dark pink flesh while she trembled and sighed beneath him. The robe came open enough for him to be able to see both breasts now. He wanted to hear her make more of those noises, it turned him on, so he moved his hand down lower.

        "Sam..." she whispered when his hand fell on her thigh, between her thighs, stroking the inside of one. He nipped at the flesh in his mouth at the same time that he worked his fingers under the waistband of her panties and simply pulled them down. Meredith slipped her leg out of one of the legholes; that was enough. "Oh, Sam... I want you."

        He wanted her too, and soon, so he maneuvered himself on top of her, putting his body between her legs. Eagerly, she spread her legs for him. Sam didn't want to think about the trouble of the last few days, the trouble they could be in for as the time on Meredith's curse ticked away, he just wanted to hear her moan and feel her tremble for him before he got inside her.

        Sam continued to suck her tits, moving from one to the other, as he put his fingers between her legs and found her clit. Meredith let out a surprised moan and jerked hard in the bed at that first aggressive touch of his fingers to the sensitive, wet knob. Then she arched into the stroking of his fingers, spreading her legs even further and rubbing the inside of her thighs against his hips. "Mmmm, Sam. Yes, yes..."

        If she had been trying to manipulate him with the robe, Sam definitely had the upper hand in the manipulation now; he was in control. But those sounds had quite a bit of control over him. The more wet, sloppy sounds he could get out of her sweet pussy, the more turned on Sam became. As his fingers slipped and slid over her clit, he considered eating her out, but sliding deep into her sounded so much better. Just for good measure, Sam circled the clit with his fingers and then pressed down on it in rapid strokes. Oh, those _sounds_.

        Meredith was panting and squirming under him now. "Sam!" Her hands tensed on his sides. "Give it to me now, please, baby. I want you inside me!"

        With a mischievous grin, Sam reached to slide off his underwear; she used the distraction as a chance to turn him over on his side and begin to climb ontop of him. "I like being on top," Meredith remarked, and then raised her head a bit too high. Sam cringed a second before the loud bang sounded as she hit her head on the bottom of Tabby's bunk.

        Meredith's hand to the top of her head, they both broke out in snickery giggles. "Oh, that hurt. Damn," she laughed.

        She tried again to push the giggling Sam beneath her over on his back, but the bed, being so small, only ran out of room for him to roll over. Sam got out an abbreviated, "Whoa - !" before he fell out of bed, taking her and half the sheets with him.

        They wound up in a pile on the floor, trying to keep the noise down but unable to stop snickering into each other's shoulders. Meredith reached down and helped him remove his underwear, then they kissed while he propped himself up against the side of her bed with a pillow in the small of his back. She climbed into his lap.

        "Do you have - " Sam began, but the feeling of her hand wrapped around his shaft cut him off with a surprised moan. Meredith didn't waste any time; she placed the head of his cock against the entrance to her channel and simply slid down on it. They both moaned at how deep he went inside her.

        "Sorry," she said, grinning against his lips. "I just really wanted to feel you without anything between us." When she saw doubt in his eyes, Meredith added, "Don't worry, I'm on birth control."

        A thought flitted through his mind, a mean thought, that maybe he shouldn't be fucking her without a condom, that maybe a girl who would get pregnant so young might be dirty, might fuck a lot of guys, but Sam pushed that thought away. He wouldn't be one of those guys, who didn't give women the benefit of the doubt just because they had experience.

        Maybe he was being too hard on Jessica, too.

        Any other thoughts that tried to intrude on their lovemaking were shoved right to the back of his mind when Meredith started to move, to bring her hips up and slide them down in an intoxicating rhythm. They both panted, moaning softly, kissing.

        They came almost simultaneously. By that time, Sam had his head thrown back on the bed and she was arching down onto him, hands and fingers digging into his shoulders. Trying to get him in as deep as she could. Meredith came first, mouth open, body shaking with need. "Uhhhhaah, Sam! Sam! Oh, Saaaammmmm, mmmmmm!"

        She could feel and tell by the tenseness in his body that he was on the verge as well, so she fucked faster, a hand cupping his face. "Come on baby, come on," Meredith said, and arced herself up until only the head of his cock was within her, then quickly pushed herself back down, ramming him back up inside.

        Sam let out a sound that was almost a choked howl and came with enough force to send a hard tremble through Meredith's body. She coaxed him through it, thrusting until he was done, stroking the side of his face.

        On the tail end of his orgasm, Sam panted, "Meredith," which sent a nice thrill through her, him gripping her hips in his hands.

        They held each other lightly for a few more moments, trying to catch their breath. "You're still sleeping over, aren't you?" she asked. Of course, she hoped he would.

        Sam nodded, absently running a hand through her hair. "Yeah," he replied, and added, "But I think we'd fit better on the futon."

*****

        Out of all the nightmares the Metternich twins could have sent her, Meredith thought she'd seen the worst of it. Could anything be worse than seeing that child put into the cabinet, or Nazis marching through her 10AM class?

        She didn't realize just how cruel Suzette could be, not until now.

        Curled up on the futon next to Sam, Meredith dreamed of walking through a fair with him, holding his hand and pushing Lizzie in a baby stroller. "Should we play that one?" he asked, pointing out a ring toss game. "The prizes are pretty big."

        "Oh, Lizzie would love that big purple monkey," she replied. "Yes, play that one."

        "I can win it for her, easy." Sam turned his back and began to throw rings at a row of bottles.

        Lizzie clapped her hands and grinned, looking up at her mother.

        At first, Meredith didn't recognize Suzette when she walked into her dream. The raven-haired young woman looked a little older than her, at a time in her life when she must have become Suzette Christaller instead of Suzette Metternich. She wasn't wearing the low-cut dress that Sam had seen her in, but she was still clad in an evening dress, a blue one this time. Meredith looked at her, wondering who she was and what she was doing there, and suddenly it hit her.

        "I saw your picture in one of the books Sam has," she said. "You're Suzette, as an adult."

        "Yes. I am." Suzette looked down at Meredith's child, then at Sam, playing the ring toss game. "This is a cozy little domestic situation you've cooked up here," she added, amused and smug.

        Any hint of a smile left Meredith's face. "I'm not stupid. I know that Sam and I just met."

        "Then why are you dreaming about him, taking you and your child out to play, holding hands like lovers?"

        Meredith already wanted to punch the ghost in the face for the condescending laughter in her voice. "He's just a symbol."

        "A symbol?"

        "Yeah. Something I think you should understand, with all the cryptic shit you put in that film."

        Suzette laughed, and took a seat on a nearby bench. The bench had a large painted statue of a clown, sitting on the bench with its arm draped across the back of it as if it had its arm around her. Lighting up a long, thin cigarette, Suzette looked at the clown, and tittered. "Plastic. Things weren't made like this in my day. In my day, things were made to last." She looked up at Meredith and took a puff off the cigarette. "Like love affairs."

        With a sigh, Meredith tried to explain her dream. "Lizzie's father isn't a good guy. He's been in and out of jail, no good hood... was even shot once. I don't really want him for her father. But I do want Lizzie to have a dad someday, before she gets too much older." She gazed at Sam's back, him still tossing rings. "I want a standup guy like Sam to be Lizzie's dad. That's why I'm dreaming about him. I know we hardly know each other, but who knows what could happen after this is all over."

        Suzette, taking a long drag off the cigarette, just grinned at her story at first. "Hm. I can see why you'd want a 'standup guy' like Sam, after making babies with hoodlums and criminals. Men like Sam are much more reliable."

        "I didn't make 'babies,' I made one baby."

        "And you think a guy like Sam might want a girl like you."

        Rolling her eyes, Meredith snapped, "Don't start this shit with me, lady. I told Sam everything and he didn't judge me at all. What difference does it make to you anyway?"

        "It makes a difference to me because Sam will be mine." Grinning impishly, Suzette looked at her with dancing eyes. "He already is."

        "How can Sam be yours?" Meredith asked, a skeptical laugh in her voice.

        "Because he is the reincarnation of my true love. My husband, Matthias." She flicked a long bit of ashes to the ground. "Look him up in the books."

        This wasn't a reply Meredith ever could have expected. "The _reincarnation_... of your husband?"

        "Yes."

        "That's crazy. I mean, what are the odds?"

        Suzette sighed, gesturing with the fingers holding the cigarette. "What are the odds that he would ever run into a victim of the curse my sister and I created? I think only fate could have brought us all together."

        "But it doesn't make any sense." Leaning on the handle of the stroller, Meredith asked, "If he's the reincarnation of your husband, why would you curse him too? Why would you threaten his life?"

        Grinning, Suzette stared at her for several long moments before speaking. "Because, my dear girl, Sam isn't cursed."

        This took Meredith by surprise. "How can you even claim a thing like that? He watched the film. He told me."

        "Meredith..."

        The condescending tone the woman used, the fact that she even knew Meredith's name at all, it sent a chill up her spine.

        Suzette brought up something Meredith probably should have thought of herself. "If Sam is cursed, why did Professor Keaner show him the film?"

        She couldn't say anything; she had no response. Meredith's mouth opened as if she had something to say, then she closed it in confusion.

        Knowing that she had Meredith's full attention, Suzette continued without mercy. "We know why you have been cursed, dear Meredith - it's because you could not keep your legs closed. That seems to be a trend with you, I dare say. But you may be surprised to find that that's not all there is to your unfortunate condition. Now, why would Professor Keaner show the film my sister and I made to Sam? Do you think he has fucked the professor too?"

        Meredith had listened to her entire speech, trying not to cringe at the cruel things Suzette was saying about her, and had to admit that it really didn't make sense for Keaner to show the film to Sam. At least, not now. "No, I don't think that. There may be some other reason why he'd show it to him."

        "Well, maybe once you wake up, you should ask him." Flicking more ashes off her cigarette, Suzette angled her face toward Sam, who walked over to the bench with a big stuffed monkey in his arms. He kissed her on the cheek. "I don't think you'll get anywhere, my dear Meredith. I think you are just going to die."

        In the back of her mind, Meredith knew this wasn't really Sam, but just a dream symbol - seeing him kiss that cruel bitch still hurt. She turned away, tears welling up in her eyes, and before she could take hold of the stroller and push Lizzie away, Sophie was there, looking up at her with those melancholy, sunken eyes. Meredith reached for the stroller, and at the same time, Sophie grabbed her wrist hard and did not let go.

        Meredith awakened on the futon to the feeling of her wrist burning. She sat up with a loud gasp. The sound startled Sam awake too.

        "Meredith?" he said, his voice sleepy.

        Stunned, she pushed up the sleeve of her robe to take a more careful look at the handprint that had been branded into her arm.

        When Sam saw it, he also sat up, quickly. "Holy crap! What happened?"

        Meredith looked over at him.

         _I don't think you'll get anywhere, my dear Meredith. I think you are just going to die._

        Before she could hold it back, she burst into tears, got up, and ran from the room.

  
it won't stop


	43. Day 43: Light a Candle, Curse the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith asks Sam a few questions that he can't answer without telling her the strange truth of his past. Professor McNeal's runaway daughter might finally be located after all this time, but she could be walking right into a danger she could never fathom before he can find her.

**She Just Wanted to Be Heard**  
Day 43: Light a Candle, Curse the Darkness  
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise  
A **"The Ring/Ringu"** Fanfic  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 43 of 100  
 **Rating:** Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)  
 **Dates:** Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in August 2010.  
 **Word Count:** 4,322  
 **Summary:** Meredith asks Sam a few questions that he can't answer without telling her the strange truth of his past. Professor McNeal's runaway daughter might finally be located after all this time, but she could be walking right into a danger she could never fathom before he can find her. As my beta Sammie said, they can't phrog onto that lily pad! :D  
 **Warning:** Contains spoilers for the entire _Ringu_ and _The Ring_ series.  
 **Beta Thanks:** Thanks to Sammie for beta'ing this chapter!  
 **Fanfic Challenges:** Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #43 Candle and Coclaim100 Prompt #43 Savage.  
 **Author's Notes:** I don't know if phrogging really exists or not. I saw a report on it on "Dateline" some time ago and they seemed to think it was real, but either way, I thought it would make a fascinating plot for my story.

X-over with the TV series _Supernatural_. **Set pre-series, during Sam's years at Stanford.** Brady/OFC, Sam/OFC.

  
        When Meredith returned to the dorm room, Sam was sitting on the futon wearing the clothes he'd had on the night before. He looked up when she entered, concern all over his face. Tabby had come back at some point; she sat up on the top bunk, tearing pieces of a Fruit Roll-Up off its plastic backing and stuffing them in her mouth. She also looked at Meredith when she came in the door and asked, "Hey Mere, what's going on?"

        "Are you okay?" Sam added.

        She looked at both of them before replying. "I had another dream."

        "What was it about?"

        Meredith stared at Sam as she said, "Suzette and I had a little talk."

        "What did she say?" he questioned.

        For a second, Meredith almost asked Tabby to leave, but then decided not to, as Tabby already knew the whole story. What did it matter if she heard more? "Sam, why did Professor Keaner show you the film?"

        The question obviously took him by surprise; Sam couldn't hide the way his eyes widened momentarily and then narrowed to an inquisitive squint as he tried to figure out why she was asking him such a thing. "Gosh, I don't know. I've asked myself that question several times and - "

        "How do you know him again?"

        Sam looked up at Tabby, hoping to see some sort of explanation for Meredith's defensive behavior in the reaction shown on her face, but even she could give him no more than a shrug. There was an edge to Meredith's voice that hadn't been there before, and the way she'd interrupted him, practically snapping at him... still, Sam continued with the lie. "He was my History professor last semester."

        "What's on the film?"

        The question Sam had dreaded since this whole thing began... "The film?"

        "Describe what's on it."

        Tabby watched the exchange back and forth like a tennis match.

        At first, Sam almost tried to keep perpetuating the lies he'd told, but then his shoulders slumped with a sigh. "I can't. I haven't seen the film."

        Tabby broke in with, "Then how do you know so much about it?"

        "What I want to know is, why did you lie?"

        Sam, looking as if he felt he was to blame for something, answered Meredith's question first. "I lied to gain your trust."

        "So you're not even cursed."

        His eyes drooping even more with guilt, Sam said, "No."

        Meredith wasn't even sure what to say. "What the hell, Sam?"

        "Why would you pretend to be cursed?" Tabby added.

        He fidgeted with his arms draped over his knees, digging at a scab on his index finger from a run of the mill stapler injury, a far cry from the hunting injuries of his past. Trying to decide how much to tell her and how to put it. "These girls have been coming to me in my dreams and making threats against my family. My mother was killed by something like this, not these girls, but something else, and ever since then, my family has hunted evil things and taken them out. That's why they targeted me."

        "Even Suzette?" Meredith asked.

        "No, not Suzette. Just some of the others."

        Tabby remembered their conversation from a few hours before. "Oh, like the other videotapes you were talking about."

        "Yeah. There's more than one curse. So I started researching all these girls, and a friend of mine got involved. She heard there was a freshman in Branner Hall who was freaking out over a film she'd seen - it sounded like this cursed tape thing, so I came over here and started asking questions."

        "And that's how you found me," Meredith said.

        "Yeah."

        "Why? Why'd you come looking for me?"

        Sam could just see Dean's face if he'd been there at that moment, all smug and satisfied. "Because I wanted to save you," he replied, in a tone that dared the memory of his brother to say one word.

         _Oh, so now you want to save people again?_ the memory of Dean said. Sam wanted to give him a shove.

        "Why?" Meredith asked again. "You hear some crazy story about a chick you don't even know freaking out over a film, and you go looking for her; who does that?"

        "Me," Sam said, and instantly added, "Me and my family."

        The Dean in his mind's eye looked at him smugly again. Yes, that _was_ an ironic thing for him to say, after the way he'd left. Sam knew it, but he was saying it anyway.

        Meredith wasn't used to people going to such trouble to help her and not wanting something in return. He seemed so sincere, so earnest... did people like that exist anymore?... and it wasn't like anyone was going to pretend to be _cursed_ to get in her pants. She almost laughed at how ludicrous a pick-up line that would be. _Hey baby, you gonna die in seven days? Me too! Small world._ Maybe his crazy story was completely on the level. "So you pretended you saw the same film to gain my trust."

        "Well, to be fair, you assumed I had seen it," Sam pointed out, half joking, with a small smile on his face. "But yeah, that's the long and the short of it. How did you figure it out?"

        After rolling her eyes at his first comment, Meredith replied, "Suzette told me, in the dream."

        "Suzette? Why?"

        Meredith, with a laugh, said, "Looks like she is sweet on you, Sam."

        "The ghost?!" Tabby exclaimed.

        Sam had to sigh. "Yeah, the ghost."

        "You already knew."

        This was embarrassing. "Yes. Last night, I told you she was flirting with me. Well, after she mentioned Matthias, she, uh... she kissed me."

        "Ah ha. Well..." Meredith walked across the room and sat down on the futon next to him. "...seems Matthias was her husband. And you're his reincarnation."

        Jerking in surprise, Sam blurted, "Reincarnation?!"

        "That's what she claims. Didn't like the fact that we had... gotten to know each other better... and said you'd be hers, because you already were."

        Sam scoffed, his anger growing. "Even if I am the reincarnation of this Matthias guy, that doesn't mean I want some dead bitch who thinks it's okay to curse people just because they watched her film."

        "Well, that's something you'll have to tell her, then. She said her husband's picture is in the books you have, the ones about the Metternichs and all the other girls, and that you should look at it."

        "Great," Sam replied sarcastically. Would it turn out Matthias Christaller looked like him, or rather, that he resembled Matthias Christaller? He briefly wondered if that had anything to do with the Baptiste painting that seemed to be of himself and Dean. Maybe... "Jesus, this is all so crazy."

        "Tell me about it," Meredith said, putting a hand on his knee and squeezing it.

        Apparently, the fact that he had lied to gain her trust wasn't putting her off anymore. Sam gave her a little smile in return. "What else did Suzette tell you?"

        "She doesn't seem to think that I'm saved," she replied, giving him a serious look. "Suzette was gnashing her teeth at me over you, and she said, 'I don't think you'll get anywhere. I think you are just going to die.'"

        "Shit," Tabby said under her breath.

        They had almost forgotten she was there. Sam stole a brief glance at her before turning back to Meredith with a tired sigh. "I think she was just trying to scare you," he began, running a hand through his hair. "But we can do some more research today just to make sure we didn't miss anything. Would that make you feel better?"

        Nodding, Meredith intertwined her hand with the one he had resting on his right knee, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

        Sam returned the show of affection by giving her hand a light squeeze. She was still scared, and who wouldn't be, with time left still to go on their 'death curse'? "It'll be okay," he said. "Wait and see."

        Suddenly, Meredith whispered, "I'm sorry about your mom."

        It took him completely by surprise; it had been so many years, and he hadn't even known his mother. There had been many times when Sam wondered if it was worse to never have met her or if he'd miss her more if he had known her and then she'd died. He would never know. "It's okay," was all he spoke in reply, because he didn't know what else to say when people said such things to him.

        Tabby unexpectedly broke the silence that followed. "Hey Sam, your friend Brady? He's an animal," she laughed, and then roared like a wild beast. "I'm definitely seeing him again."

        The moment gone, Meredith leaned forward and let go of Sam's hand. "So you had a good time?"

        "I'll say. Gives it just the way I like it, hair-pulling and rough and everything."

        "Ew," Sam groaned. "TMI."

        "What, is it like hearing about when your brother has sex or something?"

        Sam had to think about that for a second. Comparing Brady to Dean in terms of how close he felt to him, how much he knew about each guy's sexual habits... No, it was _world's_ different, but still not something he wanted to hear about in great detail. "Kind of."

        Tabby just laughed, stuffing the last of her Fruit Roll-Up into her mouth.

        Sam noticed a poster on the wall, a picture of a lit candle with a quote next to it. _It is better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness,_ it said, and the quote was attributed to Emily Dickinson. "You know, that's not really something Emily Dickinson said. It's an ancient Chinese proverb, most often credited to Confucius."

        "Really?"

        "Yeah. Poster company needs to check its facts."

        Tabby laughed again. "What'd I tell you, Mere? Stick with this one. He knows just enough about everything to make him dangerous."

        Sam and Meredith looked at each other and then chuckled. As big as Sam was, Meredith couldn't think of him as 'dangerous' with that boyish, gentle face and its innocent puppy dog expression. "Why don't we both get cleaned up and meet in the library in an hour?" he suggested.

        She nodded. "See what else we can scare up about the Metternichs." Then she added with a grin, "Light us a candle, Confucius."

*****

        Lassiter had thought that he would only cry in front of the policeman and the coroner if the teenage girl on the cold slab had turned out to be Adrianna. But as it went, he cried anyway.

        They had warned him about the girl's condition, how she had been found in a dumpster several days past her death, badly decomposed, with savage slash marks all over her body. "Whoever killed Crystal Stern and her companion was an animal," the coroner had said. "He nearly severed her head from her body. There are deep lacerations from head to toe, and ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, indicating that she was probably tied up and tortured before her death." The man had paused before continuing. "I just want you to be prepared."

        Sure, to be prepared. To be prepared to see his baby girl in such condition, if this Jane Doe was his baby girl. These men were just doing their jobs, but how could anyone ever be prepared for...? Still, Lassiter took a deep breath before they opened the drawer and pulled the metal slab out for him to view this body.

        The smell could have been the worst thing, that sickly sweet, awful smell of decay, until he saw how the girl's head was positioned in relation to her neck. God, help us. It was horrible. There were no words. He could see how they might've thought this girl was his daughter, but he knew as soon as he saw her dead eyes, the shape of her face, the size of her hands... still, he had to be sure; they had told him that decomposition could change the way a person looked enough to fool even the most careful eye. "My, uh... my daughter has a tattoo..." Lassiter began, putting the back of his hand over his mouth to block some of that smell of decay and medical products. "She went with her friends and used a fake ID. I was furious when I found out."

        "Where is it?" the coroner asked.

        "Her right shoulder."

        Because the coroner was wearing gloves, he was the one to lift the right shoulder ever so carefully, keeping one hand on the girl's head so it wouldn't move too much. Lassiter crouched down slightly and peered at the shoulderblade, and that's when he burst into grateful tears.

        No rainbow that ended in a pot of gold, with a winking leprechaun. It wasn't Adrianna.

        "There's no tattoo," he said, almost laughing. "No. No, that's not my daughter."

        "I didn't think it was," the man confessed. He covered the Jane Doe back up and slid her back into her drawer. "Why don't you come with me, Mr. McNeal? I'll get you some coffee and we can talk in my office." The coroner patted Lassiter on the back.

        His name turned out to be Martin Patterson. After he'd given Lassiter some tissues and a cup of black coffee, he began telling him about a theory he'd arrived at upon searching for missing kids on the internet. "I never thought YouTube would be such a help, Mr. McNeal. Never thought so in a million years. But kids are brazen, aren't they?"

        "Yes," Lassiter agreed immediately. "Especially the girls."

        "That's been my experience as well." Mr. Patterson turned a framed photo around so Lassiter could see it. "Those are my three girls. The oldest will graduate this year. The boy you see in that photo is my long-suffering son who's had to share a bathroom with two of them all his life," he explained with a grin. "Thirteen years of fighting for mirror space and shower time. And the make-up! It takes up so much room." Mr. Patterson sat back with his hands folded over his stomach. "My son's always been very quiet. Into sports and the like. But the girls! The girls are always into something, wearing whatever crazy clothes I'll let them get away with, trying to style their hair and their makeup like someone twice their age... it keeps me up at night, worrying about them."

        Grinning at a memory of Adrianna, Lassiter offered, "Tums often help with that."

        Mr. Patterson let out a laugh. "Rolaids too. The girls are always trying to make a statement about who they are. Showing off. My oldest has twenty-six pairs of shoes, some the same style, just in four different colors." He leaned forward. "Do you take cream?"

        Lassiter shook his head, looking at the coffee cup. "This is okay for now."

        "Good enough." The coroner began looking for something on his computer. "This morning, I found a clip on YouTube that made me think that the Jane Doe we have in there might not be your daughter."

        Now Lassiter leaned forward. "Oh? What did you find?"

        "Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of phrogging?"

        "Phrogging? No." He leaned back a bit. "Sounds like something a kid made up."

        "Well, it's definitely a young person's sport, as it were; there aren't many older, smarter people who would try such a thing. Pardon my ageism."

        Lassiter put up a hand. "No need to explain to me. I'm a father too."

        "Right. Let me explain what phrogging is, then." Mr. Patterson typed in some words, then clicked a button on the screen. "Phrogging is the practice of trying to stay in an occupied house for free, without the knowledge of the home owners."

        "What? How the hell does anyone do that?"

        "It seems they have a system. Phroggers choose houses that are large, where the home owners are hardly ever home. Maybe they travel a lot for work or leisure. The phroggers sleep in their beds, eat their food, use their water and their electricity, and hide out from detection as long as they can. Once their welcome wears thin, they 'phrog' to the next house."

        Lassiter could hardly believe what he was hearing. "And this actually works?"

        "Until they get caught somehow. But that's not the craziest thing about it."

        "Then what is?"

        The coroner turned his computer screen around for Lassiter to see. "They're proud of it." He leaned over so he could see the screen too while moving the mouse around. "Many phroggers say _Hey, look what I can do! I live in someone's house for free! What a sucker._ This is how they prove it." Mr. Patterson pointed to the screen.

        Lassiter could see that he was indicating a YouTube video as this proof. It dawned on him what this meant. "The kids who do this post _videos_ about it?"

        "Right-o."

        "But couldn't that be used as evidence against them for breaking and entering?"

        The coroner shrugged. "Kids. Remember, they're brazen."

        Shaking his head, Lassiter added, "And apparently, stupid."

        Mr. Patterson had to nod to that. "Sometimes. In this case, all the time." He pointed to the computer screen again. "Phrogging. It sounds like something a teen runaway might do, doesn't it?"

        Making the connection, Lassiter's face lit up. "Did you see Adrianna in one of those videos?!"

        "I think so. I found this one this morning. We had to have you come in and view the Jane Doe anyway, but I also want you to see this video. The person who uploaded it titled it _'Jamie, C.J., and Adri, West Coast Phroggers'_." The coroner queued up a video that had been uploaded to YouTube, and began to play it.

        Lassiter couldn't help but start to cry again when he saw his daughter on the screen. In only a year, how she'd grown... how much he'd missed out on... but it was Adrianna, crouched in a tent with her friends Jamie and C.J., talking about an awesome house they were staking out. Jamie's speech was slurred like she was drunk, and she was doing most of the talking, with the other kids responding to her statements.

        "Does this look like a primo spot to you?" she asked.

        "Yeah!"

        "Sure does!" the other kids said.

        "Are we going to get in there tomorrow?"

        "Fuck yeah," Adrianna replied, giggling.

        Jamie turned the camera around and pointed it outside the zippered opening that served as the tent's door. It was raining outside. A big white house could be seen through some closely-clustered trees. "That's the spot," Jamie announced. The other kids giggled again. "I bet they got lotsa food in there. That guy look like a steak eater to you?"

        "Fuck yeah," Adrianna said once more. In the background, C.J. laughed.

        "I can't wait to eat his big, juicy steak," said Jamie, and they all guffawed like this was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. She turned the camera back around so her face was the only thing in frame. "Mmmm, I love a man's big, juicy meat inside me," Jamie said to the camera.

        The kids laughed uproariously.

        Grabbing Adrianna around the neck, Jamie pulled her in frame. Both of their faces now filled the video screen. "This is my best friend. This is my Adreeee. She's mine now." Jamie made kissey faces at Adrianna. Adrianna puckered back. "This is what you gave up, Crystal. You stupid bitch. Mine, mine." The two girls turned their faces to each other and planted a wet kiss on each other's lips.

        Lassiter cringed at the sight of that.

        "Wooooo!" C.J. cried off screen. "Damn, why does it have to be my sister involved in that nice, hot kiss? Gross! It's gross." His hand forced its way on screen and tried to block the view of Jamie's face. Adrianna started to laugh. There followed a tussle where Jamie still attempted to hold the camera and pound her brother in the arm at the same time; the picture shook and moved all over the tent as the kids made a lot of noise, giggling constantly.

        "Fuck you, C.J.. Did you hear what I said?" She pounded his arm several more times. " _You're_ gross. Got a face like a truck."

        "What does that even mean?" he laughed, cowering from her punches and laughing.

        "Candy is dandy, but incest is best," Adrianna joked, quoting a line she'd heard at _Rocky Horror_. "Put your sister to the test!"

        With a mock gasp, Jamie leapt on her and held her chin tightly in her hands, displaying Adrianna's giggling face to the camera. "Disgusting. That's disgusting. This one is so disgusting." She turned Adrianna's face toward her. "You're lucky it turns me on," she said, and rolled over on top of the other girl, who laughed without reserve from underneath her.

        C.J. rescued the camera. "No one wants to see my sister make out with anyone," he declared.

        Before he could turn it off, Jamie grabbed it and turned it back toward her. They fought over the camera as she said, "Even if that guy has an alarm, we is still going to get in. We is the champion phroggers. West Coast phroggers, yeeeeeah baby!" She took hold of Adrianna's chin again. "This is my girl. Gonna fuck her in yo bed, house-owning guy. Put yo big steak in her!"

        Adrianna could hardly breathe with how hard she was laughing now.

        "That doesn't even make sense." C.J. pulled the camera away and filled the screen with his face now. "You a drunk bitch. Night night."

        And the video ended.

        Before Lassiter could speak, Mr. Patterson explained, "I'm sorry you had to see all the sexual things. I thought it was important for you to witness everything because you know more about these kids than I do. You might see something that I wouldn't."

        "No, it's alright." Lassiter let out a breath he'd been holding. "It's amazing how much they grow at that age."

        The coroner handed him a tissue. "I understand. You haven't seen your daughter in a year. It's hard."

        Once he'd gotten a handle on his emotions, Lassiter asked, "When was that video uploaded?"

        "Three weeks ago, from a public computer in a San Francisco library. That's why I thought the Jane Doe might not be your daughter. The things the kids said on the video indicate that they may have had a falling out with Crystal Stern. They must've separated in Los Angeles."

        Lassiter nodded. "Your theory makes sense. So the Jane Doe..."

        "...could be some other juvenile Crystal met."

        He nodded again. "Is it likely my daughter is still in San Francisco? Has anyone in that area reported being home invaded by a bunch of teenagers?" Lassiter asked with a small, hopeful laugh.

        "It's possible. The police are checking right now."

        "Should I stay in Los Angeles until the records are searched?"

        "It would be the easiest way for us to find you." Leaning across the desk, the coroner grasped Lassiter's hand to give it a comforting squeeze. "We're closing in on these kids. As long as they keep uploading the videos, it should only be a matter of time until we find them."

        For the first time in months, Lassiter's chest filled with the hope that his daughter would be found alive. "Thank you," he said, and dabbed at his eyes with the tissue. "I've got some good news to deliver to my son now."

*****

        The tent that Lassiter had seen on the video had been erected against the light snow of the Sierra Nevada mountains in March, an area on the outskirts of the mountain range opposite of Yosemite National Park, in a city called Marigold Springs, not far outside of Mariposa. Adrianna McNeal sat cross-legged in the tent's opening in her loveworn coat, a pair of binoculars held up to her eyes. She peered at a sprawling mansion among the trees, far enough away to need the binoculars to see the activity beyond the stone wall surrounding the property, but close enough to hope it could be their next conquest.

        Jamie crawled up next to her. "C.J.'s worse," she said, concern in her voice. "I'm pretty sure he has a fever now."

        "It's okay. I think this one will be a go," Adrianna announced. She brought the binoculars down into her lap. "It's a really big house. We could be on one side and anyone on the other side wouldn't even know we were there. The house has, like, _wings_."

        Grinning, Jamie speculated on what could be inside that massive, gorgeous house. "I bet they got _tons_ of food in there. Jewels. Fine clothes." She looked back at her brother, who was bundled up in a blanket and several layers of clothing, obviously cold and in pain. "Medicine."

        "Yeah. All that stuff." Bringing the binoculars back up, Adrianna peered through them once more. "I'll watch the place a while longer, try to get a sense of their habits. We should be able to make a move soon."

        "Good." Jamie started to go back into the tent, but a devilish smile came to her face, and she reached outside the tent to her left. When her hand came back, it was full of snow, which she dumped down the front of Adrianna's shirt.

        Adrianna screamed so loud, it echoed off the trees. "You bitch!" she laughed, shaking the snow out of her shirt.

        Jamie just chuckled before going back to tend to her sick brother.

        With a few more squeals of discomfort, Adrianna worked all of the snow out of her clothes and was able to go back to spying on the house. "Man, these people are so loaded. They've even got one of those big iron gates out front with their name on it."

        "Oh? Whose place are we phrogging, then? Good to know a thing like that; it could come in handy."

        "Yeah. Looks like..." Adrianna read the name emblazoned on the front gate. "...Bloodworth."

  
it won't stop


End file.
